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Title: Richard of Bordeaux. A Play in Two Acts.
Author: Daviot, Gordon [Elizabeth MacKintosh] (1896-1952)
Date of first publication: 1933
Edition used as base for this ebook:
London: Victor Gollancz, 1933
(first edition)
Date first posted: 5 June 2010
Date last updated: 5 June 2010
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #546
This ebook was produced by:
Iona Vaughan, Barbara Watson, Mark Akrigg
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
Gordon Daviot
RICHARD OF BORDEAUX
_A Play
in Two Acts_
LONDON
VICTOR GOLLANCZ LTD
14 Henrietta Street Covent Garden
1933
COPYRIGHT IN U.S.A. 1933 BY GORDON DAVIOT
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Application for performances to be made to Messrs. Curtis Brown
Ltd., of 6 Henrietta Street, London, W.C.2_
_Printed in Great Britain by_
The Camelot Press Ltd., London and Southampton
FOR
JOHN GIELGUD
_The play was produced originally by the Arts Theatre Club for two
special performances. It was subsequently played at the_ NEW THEATRE,
_with the following cast:_
_Fair Page, Maudelyn_ RICHARD AINLEY
_Dark Page_ GORDON GLENNON
_Richard II_ JOHN GIELGUD
_Anne of Bohemia_, his Queen GWEN FFRANGÇON-DAVIES
_Duke of Gloucester_, Thomas of Woodstock ERIC STANLEY
_Duke of Lancaster_, John of Gaunt BEN WEBSTER
_Sir Simon Burley_, the King's tutor GEORGE HOWE
_Duke of York_ KINSEY PEILE
_Michael de la Pole_, Chancellor H. R. HIGNETT
_Earl of Arundel_ FREDERICK LLOYD
_Robert de Vere_, Earl of Oxford FRANCIS LISTER
_Mary Bohun_, Countess of Derby MARGARET WEBSTER
_Agnes Launcekron_ BARBARA DILLON
_Henry, Earl of Derby_, Bolingbroke,
Son of Lancaster HENRY MOLLISON
_Thomas Mowbray_, Earl of Nottingham DONALD WOLFIT
_Sir John Montague_ WALTER HUDD
_John Maudelyn_, Secretary RICHARD AINLEY
_Edward, Earl of Rutland_, Aumerle, Son of York CLEMENT MCCALLIN
_A Waiting-woman_ MARGOT MACALASTER
_Thomas Arundel_, Archbishop of Canterbury REYNER BARTON
_A man in the street_ ANDREW CHURCHMAN
_A second_ ALFRED HARRIS
_A third_ GEORGE HOWE
_Woman with loaves_ MARGERY PHIPPS-WALKER
_Woman with vegetables_ MARGARET WEBSTER
_First Page_ GORDON GLENNON
_Second Page_ BRYAN COLEMAN
_Lord Derby's Page_ KENNETH BALL
(_By arrangement with Miss Italia Conti_)
_Doctor_ RALPH TRUMAN
_The Play Produced by_ JOHN GIELGUD
CHARACTERS
(_In order of their appearance_)
FAIR PAGE, MAUDELYN
DARK PAGE
RICHARD, KING OF ENGLAND
ANNE, THE QUEEN
THOMAS OF WOODSTOCK, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER
JOHN OF GAUNT, DUKE OF LANCASTER
SIR SIMON BURLEY
EDMUND OF LANGLEY, DUKE OF YORK
MICHAEL DE LA POLE, Chancellor of England
RICHARD, EARL OF ARUNDEL
THOMAS ARUNDEL, Archbishop of Canterbury
ROBERT DE VERE, EARL OF OXFORD
MARY, COUNTESS OF DERBY
AGNES LAUNCEKRON, the Queen's waiting-woman
HENRY, EARL OF DERBY
THOMAS MOWBRAY, EARL OF NOTTINGHAM
MAUDELYN, the King's secretary
SIR JOHN MONTAGUE
EDWARD, EARL OF RUTLAND
A WAITING-WOMAN
DOCTOR
A MAN IN THE STREET
SECOND MAN
THIRD MAN
WOMAN WITH LOAVES
WOMAN WITH VEGETABLES
FIRST PAGE
SECOND PAGE
LORD DERBY'S PAGE
SCENES
ACT I
SCENE I. A corridor in the Royal Palace of Westminster, February 1385
SCENE II. The council chamber in the Palace
SCENE III. A room in the Palace, the same night
SCENE IV. A room in the Royal Palace at Eltham, autumn 1386
SCENE V. A room in the Tower of London, a month later
ACT II
SCENE I. A room in the Royal Palace of Sheen, three years later
SCENE II. The same, two years later
SCENE III. A street in London
SCENE IV. A gateway overlooking the Great Hall at Westminster, three
years later
SCENE V. A room in the lodgings of the Earl of Derby, in Paris, three
years later
SCENE VI. A room in Conway Castle, six months later
SCENE VII. A room in the Tower of London, a month later
ACT I
SCENE I
_The corridor outside the council chamber in the King's Palace of
Westminster, February 1385. In the middle are the double doors of
the chamber. To the left of the door, in the rear wall, is a large
mullioned window, through which a pale spring sun is shining. The
corridor is wide, and deserted except for two_ PAGES _who, half
kneeling, half sitting on the floor down stage, are throwing dice.
One page is fair and slender, the other square and dark_.
FAIR PAGE: That is the whole of last month's allowance gone.
DARK PAGE: There is always next month's.
FAIR PAGE: Very true. Your throw.
DARK PAGE (_playing with the dice and glancing at the door_): How much
longer do you think they will be! They have been two hours there at
least. What can they find to do?
FAIR PAGE: Contradict each other. And when they are tired of
contradicting each other they contradict the King.
DARK PAGE: It seems a waste of time. I wish they would stop it. I'm
hungry.
FAIR PAGE (_glancing at the door_): So is the Duke of York, I expect. He
will shepherd them out to dine presently.
DARK PAGE (_preparing to throw_): At any rate, Robert de Vere will be
funny about them at supper to-night, and I am on duty. That is a
pleasant thought. (_Throws._)
[_The door of the chamber is burst open impetuously, and_ RICHARD
_emerges, furious. The noise of the roughly opened door is drowned
in the exclamations of the two pages as they read the_ DARK PAGE'S
_throw, and the door is shut quietly from inside, so that the pages
are unaware of the King's appearance_. RICHARD _stands a moment raging
silently. He is at this time nineteen; a slender, delicately made
youth with a finely cut, expressive face, and the fair colouring and
red-gold hair which made his mother famous as the Fair Maid of Kent_.
_His eye comes to rest on the two absorbed figures bent over the dice,
and curiosity and interest gradually replace the anger in his face. He
tiptoes over until he can lean over and watch._
DARK PAGE: Beat that!
[_The_ FAIR PAGE _throws and makes a movement of annoyance_.
FAIR PAGE: Best of three?
DARK PAGE: Yes. (_He throws._)
FAIR PAGE (_throwing a good one_): Ah!
[_The_ DARK PAGE _sees the King and tries to struggle to his feet,
but_ RICHARD _subdues him with a hand on his shoulder_.
RICHARD: No, no. Go on with the game. Who is winning?
DARK PAGE: We are even, sir.
RICHARD: What! After a whole afternoon----
FAIR PAGE: Oh, no, sir. On this throw. Up till now I've been unlucky. In
fact, I'm practically ruined, sir.
[_Enter, left_, ANNE, _the Queen. She is not beautiful, but she has
great charm, with dignity breaking every now and then to discover a
hidden mischief, and humour always in her eyes and at the corners of
her mouth. She pauses to watch_.
RICHARD (_flipping the boy's tunic with his finger_): What! with your
new coat still to play for? Poof!
[_The_ FAIR PAGE _sees_ ANNE, _and begins to rise, but_ RICHARD
_pushes him back_.
RICHARD: Running away when you're losing! Oh, John!
FAIR PAGE: The Queen, sir.
RICHARD (_turning_): Anne! (_To the pages, who have risen, he makes a
good-humoured gesture of dismissal, as one shoos chickens, and they go
out._) Anne!
ANNE (_indicating her toilette with a slight, calm movement_): Well, do
you like it?
RICHARD: My dear, it's magnificent. Even that absurd thing is lovely on
your head.
ANNE: You know you like it very well. You're jealous because I've made
it the rage. You like to keep the prerogative of making things the rage
to yourself, you and Robert. But your little barbarian wife is beating
you at your own game. Do you know that the clergy have discovered it?
They have begun preaching sermons about it. Someone discovered something
about it in Ezekiel. He called it a "moony tire" and said that it was
immodest. And unwomanly. I don't think it is particularly manly, do you?
RICHARD: It's adorable.
ANNE: Robert's wife got stuck in Cheapside yesterday. She forgot that
she wasn't wearing a cap, and she was impaled between two booths. It was
the sensation of the afternoon. She offered to pay the man for his
trouble in taking down his booth, but he said that he had laughed so
much that she didn't owe him anything.
RICHARD: Poor Philippa!
ANNE: I came along to find out whether I could hear Uncle Gloucester
thumping on the table, or if things were going quietly. But it's over,
is it? Tell me, Richard, did they agree? Did they say yes?
RICHARD (_sulkily_): It isn't over. As far as I can see they've only
just begun.
ANNE: But---- Oh, Richard! Have you run away again! And you promised me
that you would be patient, that you wouldn't----
RICHARD: How can I be patient! I know I have a dreadful temper, but how
can I be patient? They treat me like a child! They think my ideas are
moonshine; idealistic nonsense. When I give my opinion they half smile,
a little pityingly--"Poor thing, he is young, and not to be blamed for
his queer ideas"--they pause a moment for politeness' sake, and then go
on as if I had not spoken. Do you wonder that I go blind with rage?
ANNE: But, Richard, you are the King.
RICHARD: No, I am merely Edward's grandson. And my father's son. They
compare me always in their minds with my father. They eye me and think:
"If the Prince had lived, there would be none of this pacifist
nonsense." Because my father was a general and loved campaigning they
think me a weakling. They have no vision. War, war, war! It is all they
ever think of. When there is no war they are bored. Tell me, what is
shameful about peace?
ANNE: Shameful?
RICHARD: Yes, shameful. When they say it they avoid each other's eyes as
if it were an indecency. When I plead that this armistice with France
should be made into a permanent peace they look at me as if I were
blaspheming. We waste men and money and material for generations on a
futile struggle, and, when someone suggests that it would be sensible to
stop the silly business, they talk about prestige, and are shocked and
furious. It is like battering one's head against a wall. They will not
listen and they will not try to understand. They are savages. They would
rather hack a man in pieces than--than teach him to make velvet like
that. (_He picks up a fold of her dress._) Beautiful, isn't it, Anne?
(_The touch of the cloth and the consciousness of her soothes him._) Oh,
we could make England so rich and so beautiful. The silversmith sent me
something this morning. Something I had ordered for you. You shall have
it to-night.
ANNE: My darling. It will be a celebration of our victory. (_She
indicates the door._) Yes, of course it will be a victory! You are not
alone, you know. There is Michael de la Pole to back you. Your
grandfather trusted him; surely they will trust him too?
RICHARD: They don't trust each other; how will they trust Michael? They
suspect him of lining his pockets. They can never forget that his father
was a merchant.
ANNE: And there's Robert. Surely Robert's tongue is an asset to any
party? (_Even in her anxiety a dimple shows._)
RICHARD (_sulkily_): Robert just sits there and laughs.
ANNE: Laughs!
RICHARD: Oh, not openly, of course. But I know that he is laughing, and
it makes me ten times more furious with the fools than I should
otherwise be when I know that Robert is laughing at them and I am only
able to rage.
ANNE: But you could learn to laugh too, Richard.
RICHARD: No, I can't. I've tried. Robert laughs because he doesn't care.
It is all a play to Robert. But I care dreadfully. It matters to me. I
want to kill them for their stupidity.
ANNE: Richard, you must go back. They can do nothing without you.
RICHARD (_with malicious satisfaction_): That is why I came out. They
think they are lords of England until it comes to signing a paper. For
that they need me. (_With a sudden weariness_) And you have no idea how
difficult it is sometimes not to sign, when my uncle Gloucester has been
glowering, and my uncle Lancaster has been arguing, and my uncle York
has been tactful and silly. My grandfather was distressingly prolific.
If only I could trust them, Anne! If only I could trust everyone as I
trusted when I was small. That was happiness: to take men as you found
them, with no little flame of suspicion always shooting up in your mind
to spoil things. I sometimes wish I could be--oh, I don't know; nobody
in particular; just one of the people. I talked to the people once, in
the rebellion; talked for hours to them; and they seemed quite happy in
spite of being so poor. But how they stank, Anne! How they stank! It is
an insult to God that a human being should smell like that.
ANNE: And that they should be hungry. Think of it, Richard. Not enough
to eat. It is difficult to imagine, isn't it?
RICHARD: Even they are not to be trusted. I gave them all they asked
for--gave it willingly because I was sorry for them--and they killed old
Sudbury behind my back. Poor harmless old Sudbury. You never knew him.
He was a kind old man.
ANNE: Where thousands of men are brought together there will always be
knaves. It was not the poor starving cottars who killed Sudbury. Don't
be bitter, Richard. I shouldn't like you if you grew bitter.
RICHARD: That is serious. You disapprove of me often----
ANNE: No, I don't.
RICHARD: --but if you began to dislike me----
ANNE: What?
RICHARD: It would be the end of the world.
ANNE: I think the end of the world is a long way off. Now I must go or
they will be coming to look for me. And you must go back. Richard, you
and I have set our hearts on this peace. Because we both believe in it
with all our souls we can make it come true. Perhaps, when I see you
again, you will be able to tell me that they have been won over. Now,
go.
RICHARD: Very well, I'll go back. They will attend to me now that I have
been in a rage. Perhaps I can get my uncle Gloucester to walk out in a
rage, and then we shan't have to put up with him at dinner.
ANNE: Oh, Richard, be serious.
RICHARD: That's not fair. You tell me to take them lightly, and when I
do you reprove me!
ANNE: You know what I mean. Don't offend them unnecessarily.
RICHARD: Very well. I shall do my best. We shall have such a happy
evening, Anne, when the uncles have all gone. Robert is sprouting a
new poem. (_He moves to the door._)
ANNE: That will be lovely. (_Doubtfully_) I forgot to tell you that
Henry is coming.
RICHARD (_stopping_): Oh, my God! No, that is too much. What is the good
of being a king if I have to put up with my cousin Henry for a whole
evening!
ANNE: My dear, we can't help it. He and Mary----
RICHARD: Mary too!
ANNE: --are staying in the Palace for the night, on the way to Hereford.
We couldn't very well not ask them to supper.
RICHARD: I won't have it! I simply refuse.
ANNE: I don't very much like Mary.
RICHARD (_thawing after a moment to a grudging smile_): Oh, very well.
But I warn you that I shall be intolerable to him.
ANNE: You know that when the time comes you will be charming to him.
RICHARD: Possibly. I wonder if he will be thinking as unmentionable
things about me as I am about him, all the time we are being polite to
each other. A grim thought!
ANNE (_with a dazzling smile_): Good-bye. I'm glad you liked my dress.
CURTAIN
SCENE II
_A council chamber, the Palace of Westminster, the hour being the
same as in the previous scene. An informal conference is in
progress, which has become momentarily more informal during the two
hours of argument which have passed. The council are grouped round
an oblong table._
_The King's place at the head of the table is empty._
_There are present_:
JOHN OF GAUNT, DUKE OF LANCASTER; _a good-looking man of middle age,
who carries himself with the confidence of a practised diplomat_.
THOMAS OF WOODSTOCK, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER; _a soldier and less composed
edition of his brother_ LANCASTER. _He has the restlessness of all
irritable men, and a perpetual air of being about to explode. An
uncomfortable person._
THE EARL OF ARUNDEL; _who is the prototype of all those retired
soldiers who believe that the world is going to the dogs. A
stupid-looking individual_, _with small suspicious eyes which seem
always searching for slights_.
THE ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY; ARUNDEL'S _brother_; _as bland as his
brother is prickly_.
ROBERT DE VERE, EARL OF OXFORD; _a dark young man with a withdrawn
air_. _He is even better-looking than_ RICHARD, _but lacks that flame
of spirit which illumines_ RICHARD _to the most careless observer. If_
ROBERT DE VERE _has vulnerable places, they are carefully hidden and
protected by his good-humoured, cynical indifference._
MICHAEL DE LA POLE, _Chancellor of England; elderly and white-haired_,
_but shrewd; and, after many years of Courts and Governments_, _no
more easily discomposed than_ LANCASTER.
SIR SIMON BURLEY; _once the King's tutor and now Warden of Dover
Castle; a ruddy_, _good-natured person with a smile always in his
eye_.
EDMUND, DUKE OF YORK, _the King's third uncle; a pale, self-indulgent
creature, deprecatory and devoid of resolution_.
* * * * *
GLOUCESTER (_in full spate_): . . . disgraceful that we should be
exposed to this. A ridiculous proposition to begin with, and hysteria to
end with! You are far too lenient with him, Lancaster.
LANCASTER: My dear brother, I have neither jurisdiction nor influence
over him. Our respective enemies have seen to that.
GLOUCESTER: Well, De la Pole; surely you can control him? Or you,
Burley; you brought him up. And a fine mess you seem to have made of it.
BURLEY: If I might suggest it, your grace was hardly tactful in your
methods. I have never had difficulty with Richard, except when my own
judgment in dealing with him has been at fault.
YORK (_tentatively_): It's getting late; nearly dinner-time. Do you
think we should wait any longer?
DE LA POLE (_to_ GLOUCESTER): I think you are unfair in supposing that
it is a matter of wanton bad temper, my lord. The King feels strongly on
this subject. In his eyes it is something infinitely important,
infinitely worth struggling for. Something constructive, as opposed to
the policy of _laisser faire_ which----
GLOUCESTER: Constructive! To let the French keep all they have taken
from us; to kiss and make up and give them our blessing, just because
Richard would rather stay at home and buy clothes than take an army into
France like his father! The boy's a coward, I tell you. A lily-livered
coward!
DE LA POLE: That, at least, is untrue. And we all know that it is. We
have all of us fought in our time, my lords; but it has always been with
the comfortable consciousness of the next man's elbow touching ours; as
one of an army; as part of an adventure. Not one of us has walked alone
into a hostile mob, and quelled it, as the King did three years ago. A
mob which had just seen their leader killed before their eyes. Not one
of us has done that, my lords--and I dare not say which one of us would
have done it. That was a thing done without prompting, out of his own
spirit. (_To_ LANCASTER) You were in Scotland, my lord, the Duke of
Gloucester was on the Welsh border, and the Duke of York in Portugal.
The whole future of this country depended upon a boy of fifteen, and
only his courage and initiative saved it from chaos. There is wonderful
mettle there, my lords. It is for us merely to guide it, as Sir Simon
Burley suggests, and not to thwart and deny it.
GLOUCESTER (_with an exclamation of derision_): You are bemused with
him! You throw away the judgment that a man of your age and experience
should have, for the favour of a graceless boy.
DE LA POLE: If I have committed myself to the anti-war policy, it is
because I believe in the vision of youth, and in its capacity to evolve
something which our hidebound practice and unsupple minds are incapable
of conceiving; and not because of any love or favour that I hope for.
LANCASTER: Although as Chancellor it would please you more to see good
gold in your own hands than spent on munitions.
DE LA POLE: I would rather see it thrown into the Channel than spent on
munitions. At least it would be harmless there.
GLOUCESTER: The pirate turns preacher!
ARUNDEL: Visionary nonsense, that's what it is!
CANTERBURY: My dear brother, vision is not necessarily nonsensical.
There have been occasions when it has proved heaven-sent. Even a crusade
achieves something occasionally.
ARUNDEL: Oh, as a Churchman you feel bound to say things like that. But
I'm a soldier, and I want to know what good--what practical good--anyone
thinks it is going to do us to go begging France for peace as if we were
licked, making ourselves the laughing stock of Europe.
DE LA POLE: I can hardly expect Lord Arundel to understand it, but what
we are seeking is something new; some way out of the stalemate; out of
the everlasting alternation of war and armistice and war again, which is
all the history this country has had within living memory. We want a
permanent peace in which we may be able to turn to things better worth
while than the eternal see-saw of conquest and loss. It is in that hope
that we are prepared to treat for a peace with France.
ARUNDEL: Then I say that is treason! It is going back on everything we
have been taught to believe. It is betraying the country and those
who----
[_Enter_ RICHARD. _He walks to his seat rather as a child might who
knows that he has behaved badly but is still indignant that anyone
should think so._
RICHARD (_as they resume their seats_): You were saying, Lord
Arundel----?
ARUNDEL: I was protesting yet once more, sir, against this monstrous
suggestion of--of----
RICHARD: Of peace.
ARUNDEL (_unconscious of irony_): Yes, of peace. England is not beaten,
sir. She has had reverses, of course, but so has France. The spirit of
the people is not broken, sir; the will to win is still there and we
have a first-rate army. Once this armistice ends, there is nothing to
hinder us from making a new invasion which will result in unqualified
victory, a complete vindication of our policy, and a still greater glory
for England.
RICHARD: And more cripples begging in the gutters, and more taxes to
cover the cost!
ARUNDEL: You can have no war without wastage, sir. As to the cost, the
captured provinces in France will more than repay the costs----
RICHARD: When they are captured.
ARUNDEL: And I cannot help saying, sir, that it is a poor day for
England when she has to count the cost before she takes her stand in a
rightful war.
RICHARD: Oh, let us have done with humbug! My grandfather invaded France
in a trumped-up cause which even he himself didn't believe in. My father
helped him because he liked the game. They both lost practically all
they had gained before they died; and now you suggest that I should lay
waste France and kill forty thousand men because it is my sacred duty.
GLOUCESTER: I warn you that it is all very well to take this detached
view of the war; you can say what you like here in conference and you
can out-vote us here; but you will get short shrift in the Commons.
RICHARD: _I_ will get short shrift! (_There is a horrified pause._) You
chose your words carelessly, my dear uncle.
LANCASTER (_pouring oil_): Gloucester means that it will be difficult to
persuade the Commons to give up claims to France which they have been
taught to believe rightful and necessary.
RICHARD: It is for us to teach the Commons better. What the Commons are
taught, they think; (_looking meaningly at_ GLOUCESTER) as you very well
know. Who are the Commons, to decide the foreign policy of a country? A
lot of little clerks and country knights, who know the price of hay and
how to write a letter; how are they to judge? It is for us to see that
they are neither misgoverned nor misled.
LANCASTER: But--supposing for a moment that this peace policy of yours
is carried into effect, can you guarantee that France will be equally
conscious of her high mission in European politics? Once our army is
disbanded, how can you trust them to refrain from snapping up such a
juicy morsel as England will be?
RICHARD: Because France wants peace, too, in her heart. There is no
peace, because France too is plagued by people like you, like the
Commons, like Arundel, like Gloucester, who say: "It would be shameful
to stop! We must go on."
ARUNDEL: And we must! I am not ashamed to say it. We have interests in
France which must be protected; we have colonists in Calais, if nothing
else. The whole of France was ours once, and what we have done before we
can do again.
DE LA POLE: That last sentence does more credit to Lord Arundel's
sentiment than to his intelligence. When the late King and the Prince of
Wales gained such spectacular victories in France they were opposed to a
conscript and unwilling army. To-day, France has learned her lesson and
has a well-paid and well-supplied voluntary army, which will prove a
very different proposition.
ARUNDEL: Maybe; but we have new artillery. Marvellous artillery!
RICHARD: Which Lord Arundel is dying to try on something more exciting
than dummies.
YORK: We seem to be getting no nearer an agreement on the subject.
Perhaps if we had dinner first---- What does anyone think?
GLOUCESTER: Does the Chancellor propose to tell the Commons that all the
prospective wealth of France is to be given up for a will of the wisp,
for an idea?
DE LA POLE: No, I propose to tell the Commons that, if we make this
peace, they need no longer lose their trade with Flanders because of the
French navy's depredations, and that the whole of France will be open
for new trade instead of for annihilation. Your good Englishman has a
very healthy respect for trade when fighting is not available.
GLOUCESTER: But you misjudge him if you think he can be bribed by the
prospect of trade into forgetting what is due to his country. We are not
so far away from Crecy and Poitiers as all that!
RICHARD: Between now and Poitiers a starving army dragged itself beaten
out of France. It is said that even my fire-eater of a father died
disillusioned.
ARUNDEL: That is merely a matter of organising supplies.
RICHARD: And when the organisation breaks down, you and the other lords
live on your stores, and the common soldier dies.
DE LA POLE: Parliament will, I have no doubt, be glad to be spared the
cost of organisation. I shall point that out too.
BURLEY: To say nothing of the relief of not having to keep up a few
dozen useless and mouldering castles in France which no English nobleman
will be induced to live in.
GLOUCESTER: Why shouldn't they live in France?
RICHARD: Because they are all afraid they will miss something in England
if they do.
GLOUCESTER: Well, I warn you, England hasn't ceased to be patriotic
because a few irresponsibles are willing to sell her to France. You will
only succeed in making yourselves unpopular if you push such a
proposition in Parliament. Already every public-house in London is
seething with the gossip that the King is pro-French. The sound of it
sours the ale on their tongues.
RICHARD: Your ear seems to be very close to the ground.
GLOUCESTER: I make it my business to study the temper of the people.
RICHARD (_in a tone which is a subtle insult_): Yes.
GLOUCESTER (_angrily_): And you would do well to study it, too! That is
the thing which matters: the temper of the people; and not the
high-falutin of a few unpractical idealists.
RICHARD (_mildly_): You can hardly call the Chancellor unpractical; nor
Sir Simon Burley. They are hardly men to be led away by----
GLOUCESTER: And what about my lord of Oxford, who hasn't opened his
mouth for the last hour? Youth, indeed! You talk about the vision of
youth, and Lord Oxford spends his time in committee searching for a
rhyme!
DE VERE (_who since the beginning of the scene has been studying a
tablet_): Having failed to find reason. (_Mock sententious_) It is a
sobering thought for both of us, my lord, that my little song may still
be sung when your glorious war is two little lines in the history books.
GLOUCESTER: What I am concerned with is not what I shall be in the
history books, but what is to become of France in my lifetime. If this
disgraceful peace were to become fact, what about Calais?
RICHARD: If necessary, we could do homage for Calais.
GLOUCESTER: Do homage for Calais! Are you mad? Are you crazy? Do homage
for something that is ours by right of conquest! Have you no pride? What
have you in your veins, water or sawdust? Whose son are you that you can
suggest such a thing?
LANCASTER: My dear Gloucester----!
GLOUCESTER: Your grandfather would turn in his grave to see you sitting
in that chair and throwing away his conquests like empty eggshells.
RICHARD: Curious how everyone loses his head at the mention of Calais.
We have no intention of throwing away Calais, my dear uncle. The best
way to keep it is by mutual agreement.
GLOUCESTER: If you do homage for it you acknowledge that you hold it
only by their goodwill, you----
RICHARD: To hold it by goodwill is better than perpetually holding our
breath about its military security.
GLOUCESTER: It is a contemptible suggestion, a degrading suggestion. I
am ashamed that it should have come from a nephew of mine, and that a
servant of Edward the Third (_glaring at_ DE LA POLE) should aid and
abet you in making it. If your father were only alive to-day----
RICHARD: I wish to God he were! Then I should be hunting in Malvern--and
you would be nagging the gardeners at Pleshy!
GLOUCESTER: This is too much! I sit on this council to give advice, not
to be insulted. When you need my advice again you can send for me.
[_Exit angrily._
RICHARD (_recovering his temper abruptly_): Well! (_The tone says:
"That's that!"_) I think that ends the conference for to-day, gentlemen.
The papers I shall sign with the Chancellor this evening. The only other
matter is Parliament's complaint of my extravagance, and that, being a
more or less perpetual matter, can wait. (_Rising_) I expect you all to
dinner.
LANCASTER (_as the others file out_): May I have a word with you, if you
are not too ravenous?
RICHARD: Ravenous! It takes me two days to recover my appetite after a
conference. (_He props himself against the table._) What is it that you
wanted to say?
LANCASTER: You and I will never agree over this French business,
Richard. We have quarrelled over it more than once. And it hurts my
sense of fitness to quarrel the same quarrel more than three times. I
have made up my mind to take my departure to Spain.
RICHARD: To Spain! But----
LANCASTER: I know, I know! (_As one repeating a well-learned lesson_)
Spain is France's ally, and France must not be offended. Hitherto I have
had to let my military ambitions in Spain wilt because of your peace
ambitions in France. But the end of the French armistice is coming, and
if it ends, as I am sure it will, in the renewal of war, nothing is left
in the way of my little Spanish expedition. I don't think that you can
object to that. My claim to Spain, if not immaculate, is at least not
greatly--"trumped up" was the word, I think? (_glancing slyly at_
RICHARD).
RICHARD (_smiling in spite of himself_): No. I suppose you must go if
you want to. But what about the Scots? If we fail in peace negotiations
with the French, the Scots will be over the border like water.
LANCASTER: We can settle the Scots while my expedition is being fitted
out.
RICHARD: The poor Scots! Well, you have the money and you have the men.
What more do you want? My blessing?
LANCASTER: Yes. With your official sanction, and Parliament's unofficial
hatred of the French, I can get them to vote a little gift towards my
army's supplies. There is no need to beggar myself in Spain.
RICHARD: You know quite well that Parliament will vote anything against
France. It is only the King's household accounts that they question. I
am sorry that you are going.
[_In the tone of this last remark there is a suspicion of such naïve
wonder underlying its conventionality that_ LANCASTER _is amused_.
LANCASTER: And surprised to find yourself sorry?
RICHARD: Yes; a little.
LANCASTER: We have had small chance to learn to know each other,
Richard. Each time that we have come within understanding distance of
each other someone has told us of a plot that the other was hatching,
'm?
RICHARD (_thoughtfully_): Yes.
LANCASTER: You always got incontrovertible proof, didn't you?
RICHARD: Yes.
LANCASTER: So did I! (RICHARD, _seeing the point, smiles, and there is a
pause_.) You said just now of the Spanish project: "You have the money
and you have the men."
RICHARD: Yes?
LANCASTER: With those men and that money I might, if I had cared, have
done endless mischief in the last eight years. But, instead, I am taking
them out of England. Think it over. I hope you are giving me pigeon-pie
for dinner?
RICHARD: I think so. You go on. I'll follow. (_As_ LANCASTER _goes out_)
By the way, I suppose you weren't thinking of taking my uncle Gloucester
with you to Spain?
LANCASTER (_smiling_): No, you will have to deal with your own worries.
[_Exit_ LANCASTER. RICHARD _moves to the window and stands there
looking out, kicking disconsolately in a childish fashion with his
toe. After a moment_, ROBERT DE VERE _comes in looking for him_.
DE VERE (_crossing to him_): Dinner, Richard.
RICHARD: I don't want dinner.
DE VERE: You will when you see it.
RICHARD (_in a burst_): It is all coming to pieces, Robert! They won't
try to understand, and Parliament will think as they do. It is going to
fail.
DE VERE (_putting his arm across_ RICHARD'S _shoulder in casual
friendliness_): Cheer up, Richard! It may fail this time. You can't
expect them to absorb anything as repulsive as a new idea without some
coaxing. But we are young, thank God; we have all our lives in front of
us. We keep on coaxing, and presently they swallow the dose.
RICHARD: But you would think that we were trying to do something that
would harm them, instead of something that would be to everyone's
advantage!
DE VERE: Everyone's advantage is nobody's business. You should know
that. Even we are not entirely guiltless of self-seeking.
RICHARD: What do you mean?
DE VERE: Analyse our noble desire for peace and it becomes strangely
like a rather low desire for a quiet life.
RICHARD: How can you laugh, Robert?
DE VERE: How can I? A little natural aptitude, and some perseverance.
Gloucester helps. Gloucester is very funny.
RICHARD: Gloucester! Funny! You know you don't mean that.
DE VERE: But I do mean it. Gloucester being righteous must make even the
gods laugh.
RICHARD: Oh, Robert, I wish I had your Olympian view. I can only see
Gloucester trampling to pieces everything we try to build. Don't you
care about that?
DE VERE: You know I care.
RICHARD: You think I'm a fool to let them see. But I can't help it.
Stupidity drives me crazy. Arundel and his "will to win"! Does Arundel
make you laugh, too?
DE VERE: Where Arundel is concerned it is a choice between laughter and
being sick, and I find it more--convenient to laugh.
RICHARD (_melting_): Robert, what should I do without you!
DE VERE: Struggle along, I dare say. Come, Anne will be waiting.
RICHARD (_brightening_): Oh, yes; Anne. (_Gloomy again_) And I have
nothing to tell her. I hoped I should be able to--and all I did was lose
my temper again. (_As they move out, brightening once more_) But at
least Gloucester will not be at dinner!
CURTAIN
SCENE III
_A room in the King's apartments, the Palace of Westminster, on the
evening of the same day. In the back wall is, left, an embrasured
window, and right, a small door. Down right is the fireplace.
Centre is a table with the remains of supper. There is moonlight
outside._
_Supper is over._ ANNE _is sitting by the fire with_ MARY BOHUN,
HENRY'S _wife, working at her embroidery. The others have pushed back
their chairs a little, but are still lounging by the table._
_There are present_: RICHARD; ROBERT DE VERE; THOMAS MOWBRAY, EARL OF
NOTTINGHAM; HENRY, EARL OF DERBY; _and_ AGNES LAUNCEKRON, _the Queen's
waiting-woman_.
HENRY, LORD DERBY, _is the same age as_ RICHARD, _but looks older
owing to his sturdy build and solid manner_.
MOWBRAY _is also_ RICHARD'S _age; a plain youth with a manner half
resentful, half placatory_.
AGNES LAUNCEKRON _is slightly older than_ ANNE; _a brilliant dark
creature with an overflowing vitality. Her English is much more
foreign than_ ANNE'S.
MARY: I'm such a cold person. I'm never happy unless I have my toes to a
fire. (_There is an outburst of laughter from the table, where_ ROBERT
_is talking_.) What are they laughing at?
ANNE: I don't know. I expect Robert is being outrageous.
MARY (_in a disbelieving tone_): Lord Oxford is supposed to be very
witty, isn't he?
ANNE: I certainly find him amusing.
AGNES (_noticing the moonlight_): Oh, why do we stay and stifle in a
little room on a night like this! (_She rises impetuously and crosses to
the window._)
HENRY: If you women wore looser dresses you wouldn't stifle so much.
AGNES (_opening part of the window and leaning out_): It is like June
to-night. You can almost smell the roses.
MARY (_to_ ANNE): I should like to wear fashionable things, you know,
but my husband won't let me. He says he likes me best in my old things.
He doesn't approve of shaved necks and plucked eyebrows.
[ROBERT DE VERE _joins_ AGNES _in the window, and they stay there,
laughing and talking in low voices_.
ANNE: No? A harmless and amiable fashion, surely? One's neck looks so
untidy in these new head-dresses if one doesn't shave it. Besides, it
does great good to the Church.
MARY: To the Church!
ANNE: It gives the clergy something new to preach about.
HENRY (_demonstrating on the table to_ RICHARD _and_ MOWBRAY): He was
just about here when I noticed him. This is the far end of the ground,
you see. He had just arrived as far as this when I noticed that he
wasn't balanced properly. Curious how very few men know how to balance
themselves properly. He was going at a great pace, but in that second or
two I made up my mind. I marked a spot about two inches, or perhaps
three inches--I should say three inches--to the right of the middle
line, and about two hands'-breadths below the shoulder; marked it with
my eye; and when he was within reach I swerved about half a foot, so as
to get a screw effect, and let him have it. He lifted out of that saddle
like a bird. I wish you had seen it. It was the neatest thing I ever
did.
RICHARD: He isn't quite as heavy as you, is he?
HENRY (_slightly offended_): He challenged me, so I suppose he
considered himself up to my weight. (_Recovering his self-satisfaction_)
He won't play for some time again, I think.
MOWBRAY: It must be quite two months since we had a tournament, Richard.
You are not doing your duty as a provider of spectacles.
RICHARD: How can I provide spectacles with Parliament complaining for
ever of my extravagance?
HENRY: That hasn't detained you so far!
MOWBRAY: They'll complain in any case.
RICHARD: I have more serious matters to attend to. Next month I shall be
enduring the utter boredom of campaigning on the Scots border.
MOWBRAY: Confess, sir: that is sheer affectation. In your heart you love
it.
RICHARD (_surprised_): You're becoming quite acute, Thomas Mowbray!
MOWBRAY (_resenting the indulgent tone_): Am I usually so dense?
RICHARD (_not listening_): Yes, there are some things I like about it. I
like wakening up in the morning, with the tent flapping, and Dibdin
hissing while he takes the rust off the armour. And the smell of frying.
And the footprints all black on the wet grass.
HENRY: Black! Footprints on dew aren't black, they're white.
RICHARD (_wearily_): If you say so, Harry, they must be.
HENRY: I should think so! I may not know the latest fashions in clothes,
nor how to write verse, but you can't tell me anything I don't know
about campaigning.
DE VERE: The dust of battle is incense in Henry's nostrils.
HENRY: I think it wouldn't be a bad thing for this country if a few more
people didn't mind the dust.
RICHARD: In fact, what this country needs is a really big war to redeem
itself from the awful stigma of being at peace for more than two years!
HENRY: I wouldn't put it quite like that, but----
RICHARD: But that's what you mean?
HENRY: There is such a thing as a righteous war.
RICHARD: My dear Henry, all wars are righteous! Even the bishops
patronise them.
HENRY: When I was in the Holy Land once, we were in a very tight place.
It was in a narrow valley like this (_demonstrating on the table_).
MARY (_looking meaningly at the couple in the window_): Is it true,
then, madam, what they say?
ANNE: It hardly ever is. But what do you mean particularly?
MARY: Well, it may be indiscreet of me, but they say that Lord Oxford
finds your waiting-woman very attractive.
ANNE: Agnes is very attractive.
MARY: Her manners are very foreign.
ANNE: She has been brought up, like me, in a country where women do not
wait until they are spoken to before they speak.
MARY: It must be so distressing for his poor wife when people tell her.
ANNE: Then why do they tell her?
MARY: It is only right that she should know what is going on.
ANNE: What is going on?
MARY: Oh, well, madam, you know best, of course.
ANNE: I see nothing wanton or strange in the fact that Robert should
find Agnes amusing. Poor Lady Oxford is very dull.
MARY: Philippa Oxford is a good woman.
ANNE: I have no doubt of it.
MARY: And you yourself are so good, madam, that I am surprised that you
take their--well, their friendship so lightly.
ANNE: It has never made me angry to see others happy. And if Lady Oxford
has a grievance she probably enjoys it more than she does Robert's
company.
HENRY: And there I had the whole five of them, and not a struggle left
in the lot of them! (_He picks up his glass and drains it._)
RICHARD: Marvellous. Do you approve of my malvoisie?
HENRY: Yes, not bad. Get it from Bramber?
MOWBRAY: Of course he does.
HENRY: You know what you're about, Richard! Keep in with these merchant
princes, and take the perquisites, eh?
RICHARD (_coldly_): I happen to have paid for that wine. Foolish of me,
no doubt. Part of my lamented extravagance. (_Dropping to good-humoured
abuse_) You are a clod, Henry. Is Bramber's only charm in your eyes the
fact that he is a wine merchant?
HENRY: Oh, well, I suppose it is good policy to keep in with the Lord
Mayor, whatever he deals in.
RICHARD: Oh, have some more, for God's sake! Mowbray, pour him out some.
[DE VERE _sings in a low voice to_ AGNES, _while_ ANNE _and_ MARY
_talk_.
ANNE: It is only that I think the Church has become too rich, and
forgotten its mission. That is all. It has become a tyranny instead of a
comfort, and I think something should be done to make it simpler and
kindlier.
MARY: I should like to study these things too, but the children take up
most of my time, as you can imagine. And in a big household---- (_She
sighs complacently._)
ANNE: But don't you have a good housekeeper?
MARY: Oh, yes, she is fairly good. But I like to keep an eye on most
things myself. Henry likes to see what he calls my touch in things. A
wife takes so much more interest than a paid servant. Besides, don't you
think men understand those matters of State better than we ever can?
RICHARD: Robert, if you must sing, sing openly and not in a corner.
DE VERE (_coming back to the table with_ AGNES): I can't sing at all.
The song isn't finished yet. I was merely trying it out on Agnes, and
now you've ruined my inspiration.
MOWBRAY (_with a glance at_ AGNES): Vere's inspirations are easily
ruined, aren't they?
DE VERE (_surprised_): Not as easily as Mowbray's digestion, apparently.
Has your supper not agreed with you, Thomas?
MOWBRAY: My supper has agreed with me, thank you; but there are other
things I find hard to stomach.
DE VERE (_refusing the lead_): Such as my singing? Very well, I promise
not to sing. Have you finished the wine, Henry?
RICHARD (_passing the wine_): No, just in time.
DE VERE: Are you going campaigning in Spain with your father, Henry?
HENRY: No, I think this country might be interesting for a little. The
Hereford estates need looking after.
DE VERE: If you imagine yourself as a country gentleman, Henry, you're
wrong. You'll only get into trouble. England isn't big enough for you.
MOWBRAY: He has a family he wants to see something of, you know.
HENRY: Have you told the King your news, Mowbray?
RICHARD: News? What has old Thomas been doing?
MOWBRAY: I am going to be married.
RICHARD (_delighted_): Married! Thomas, my dear friend! And I had no
inkling of it! You are becoming a dark horse, Thomas. Who is the lady?
Someone about the Court? Let us all guess. A silver girdle to the
winner! I have first guess.
MOWBRAY: I don't think you know her, sir. It is Lord Arundel's daughter.
[_There is a moment of silent consternation, but_ RICHARD _rises to
the occasion_.
RICHARD: _Arundel's_ daughter! (_After a pause_) Well, my dear friend, I
could have wished the alliance otherwise, but if you are happy I am
bound to be content. Come, let us drink to Mowbray's happiness. (MOWBRAY
_murmurs a half-shamefaced thanks, and they drink_.) And heaven grant
him patience with his father-in-law!
[_There is a general laugh, rather hysterical and relieved._
Is the marriage to be soon?
MOWBRAY: Some time within the year.
AGNES: The lady must be very lovely to have tempted Lord Mowbray away
from the Court beauties.
MOWBRAY: She is considered to be quite good-looking.
DE VERE: What admirable detachment!
HENRY (_into an awkward pause_): I think it is time that I said good
night.
RICHARD: What! With some malvoisie still in the flask?
HENRY: We are setting out very early in the morning. Mary!
[MARY _rises and takes her leave of_ ANNE.
RICHARD: Well, Simon Burley says it is going to be wet, so put on an old
coat for your ride to-morrow.
HENRY: I haven't any new ones. _My_ coats are made for the weather.
RICHARD (_taking leave of_ LADY DERBY): But not yours, madam, I hope?
MARY: Indeed yes, sir. In the country one lives as the country people
do, with rain for one's bath and russet for one's garb.
RICHARD: A little dull, surely. Good night. I hope you have a safe
journey.
MOWBRAY: If you don't mind, I think I shall take my leave too. (_He
looks half defiant, half shamefaced at_ RICHARD'S _surprise_.)
RICHARD (_making things easy for him_): Thomas wants to write
love-letters! Very well, my friend. But don't try verse. Your metre was
always lame. Good night.
MOWBRAY: Good night, sir.
[_He takes his leave of_ ANNE, _and follows the Derbys out. The four
who are left stare after them_.
RICHARD: With Henry! That is a new alliance, surely?
DE VERE: Perhaps he has been overcome by a longing for beef and brawn.
RICHARD: It is a strange marriage--with Arundel's daughter.
DE VERE: Don't blame him too much; perhaps he is in love with the girl.
Which reminds me. (_To_ ANNE) Have you been shocking the Countess of
Derby, madam? There was a drawing aside of skirts, I thought.
AGNES (_with more scorn than she can utter_): Skirts like that need
drawing aside! Has she no mirror, the woman!
ANNE: Lady Derby does not approve of us. I have been well and truly
snubbed all the evening. What one suffers in the name of social duty!
RICHARD: But--Mowbray! After all those years, to go over to the Arundel
camp. And to tell us when he had Henry here to back him! What has gone
wrong?
ANNE: What is wrong is that he is jealous. I should have thought that
was obvious.
RICHARD: Jealous of what?
ANNE: Of Robert. You and he and Robert have been together ever since you
were small, and you never make any secret of your preference for Robert.
You were never a good dissembler, Richard, and Mowbray is not a good
second fiddle.
DE VERE: He won't be even second fiddle in the Arundel-Gloucester
league.
AGNES: But it is much easier to play forty-fifth fiddle than second, you
know.
ANNE: And he will feel that in some vague way he is getting even.
RICHARD: Getting even for what, in heaven's name! I have never been
anything but friendly to him.
ANNE: That very thoughtless friendliness is a thorn to a jealous nature.
RICHARD: Then you think that he has deserted us? That this marriage is
an ultimatum?
DE VERE: Perhaps he has merely a hankering to take part in one of
Arundel's triumphant progresses after the next war.
RICHARD: Arundel makes me quite sick! He has never forgotten the shouts
of the populace last time he rode through London after a victory, and to
have that in his ears again he is ready to wade through blood.
DE VERE: And his grace of Gloucester is prepared to do likewise so that
France may have the benefit of his ministrative abilities.
ANNE: Don't laugh, Robert!
DE VERE (_surprised_): Why not?
ANNE: None of us can afford to laugh at Gloucester.
DE VERE: Afford! Well, however expensive, I reserve the right to laugh
when, where, and at whom I choose.
ANNE: You talk like a grammar!
RICHARD (_smiling at_ ANNE): Anne has never got over her first sight of
Gloucester when he met her at Dover.
ANNE: I have certainly never changed my mind about him.
DE VERE: You must forgive her her prejudice. It was raining. Think of a
wet day at Dover, all her baggage lost, and Gloucester to meet her! It's
a marvel that she didn't go straight back to Bohemia.
RICHARD: Don't imagine such hells for me, Robert. I have had enough for
one day. You really had finished that song, hadn't you?
DE VERE: Yes, but I wasn't going to waste it on Henry.
RICHARD: I thought so. Let us have it now. (_Sitting on the floor by_
ANNE, _and leaning against her knee_) Oh, how tired I am! What a day!
(_Musing, as_ ROBERT _is preparing to sing_) You know, there are times
when I quite like Lancaster.
DE VERE: When you have had an hour alone with Gloucester.
RICHARD: No, I mean it. He is the type of man one wouldn't mind having
for a father.
DE VERE: Henry doesn't find him so congenial.
AGNES: You mean he doesn't find Henry so congenial. It must be dreadful,
poor man, to have Lord Derby for a son! (_The others laugh at the
passion of sympathy in her voice._)
DE VERE: I know why you have discovered a liking for Lancaster.
RICHARD: Why?
DE VERE: Because he is going to Spain.
RICHARD: Tease if you like, but there are times when I very nearly trust
Lancaster. Sing, Robert, and save your wits.
[DE VERE _begins to sing as the curtain falls_.
CURTAIN
SCENE IV
_A room in the King's Palace of Eltham, autumn, 1386._
_There are present_: RICHARD; ROBERT DE VERE; and MICHAEL DE LA POLE.
RICHARD (_to_ DE LA POLE): So you think I have been behaving badly?
DE LA POLE: With all due respect, sir, I think it was a mistake to
create Lord Oxford Duke of Ireland at the present moment. In the
circumstances it was--well, a slap in the face for Parliament.
RICHARD: That is why I did it.
DE VERE: And I had hoped it was for my graces, if not for my merits!
RICHARD: And my desertion of Parliament, do you think that a mistake
too?
DE LA POLE: That was not so serious. In the present deadlock a certain
amount of independence is good policy. It is when independence becomes
wanton that it tends to alienate sympathy, and we cannot afford to
alienate any sympathy just now.
RICHARD: Oh, you croak, Michael, you croak.
DE LA POLE: The situation is serious, sir. London is seething with
rumours of a French invasion; the people have been worked into a state
bordering on panic, and the invasion--mythical as far as I know--is
being attributed to our supposed remissness.
DE VERE: But what connection has this supposed raid with our policy? If
we had been able to make peace there would have been no danger of a
raid!
DE LA POLE: You can hardly expect the man in the street to examine the
logic of a rumour. At the best of times he is not clear-thinking. When
he is a little silly with terror it is enough to suggest to him that the
King is responsible. He is angry and frightened, and only too willing to
accept the scapegoat presented to him. There has been one thing wrong
with our policy. (_Bitterly_) We have not sown the by-ways with lying
rumour.
DE VERE: Yes, it is their deliberate policy. My squires have told me
things.
DE LA POLE: A terribly effective policy.
RICHARD: Well, I refuse to go back to London until Parliament climbs
down from its attitude of dictation. The responsibility of everything
that happens in this country is laid on my shoulders, and that being so
I must be free to direct it as I think fit. When Parliament is willing
to share the responsibility, then it will have the right to dictate. All
it has done so far in its history is to criticise.
DE VERE: And to pat themselves on the back when the King has pulled the
chestnuts out of the fire.
DE LA POLE: The fact that they are willing to send a deputation down
here augurs well for their reasonableness.
RICHARD: They are growing impatient, that is all. They want to get back
to their wives, and their own much more important quarrels with their
neighbours. At bottom the Commons care nothing what happens to the
country. Even the Londoners, when they aren't worked up like this
against the French, are less interested in foreign policy than in the
fact that Stratford bakers make short-weight bread.
DE LA POLE: When do you expect the Commons?
RICHARD: I said that I would see a deputation of forty this afternoon.
DE LA POLE: Then they will be here presently. I have not paid my
respects to the Queen. With your permission I shall do that before they
come.
RICHARD: Very well. You will find her in the garden, I expect; she and
Agnes are converting the flowers to Bohemian ways. (_Enter a_ PAGE.)
Well, is it the deputation?
PAGE: No, sir. The Duke of Gloucester and the Earl of Arundel have
arrived, sir. They would be grateful if you would grant them an
interview.
RICHARD: Either my uncle has bought himself a new tongue, or you lend
him yours.
DE LA POLE: I think you had better see them, sir.
RICHARD: Of course I shall see them. I want very much to see both of
them. Let them come in.
[_Exit_ PAGE.
DE VERE: So they couldn't trust the Commons!
DE LA POLE: You'll be tactful, sir. It will not gain us anything to
rouse more enmity.
RICHARD: Could there be more?
DE LA POLE: If you like, sir, I can conduct the interview on your
behalf. I'm your Chancellor, don't forget.
RICHARD: I don't forget it, Michael. I shall never forget it. You have
been a good friend to me. But I am going to see those two alone. Yes
(_as the others protest_), you are to go, both of you. I am not
frightened of Gloucester, and I will not have him think that I need
support against him. Now go, quickly, before they come. (DE LA POLE
_and_ DE VERE _move reluctantly to a small door down left_.) And don't
wait outside that door. If I want you I shall send for you. Go and
advise the Queen about next year's roses.
[_As they go out, the_ PAGE _shows_ GLOUCESTER _and_ ARUNDEL _in_.
Good day to you both. You wished to see me?
GLOUCESTER: I have come to see you as representative of the present
Parliament.
RICHARD: I had expected a deputation of forty Commons.
GLOUCESTER: I am deputed to speak on their behalf.
RICHARD: Have the Commons been struck dumb, then? I wish I had seen so
rare a sight!
GLOUCESTER: Since the deputation was entirely agreed as to their point
of view it was thought better that one man should present it to you.
RICHARD: And your--shield-bearer, what is he for?
GLOUCESTER: Lord Arundel is here to add weight to my message.
RICHARD: I see. A reinforcement.
ARUNDEL: No such thing! Our position requires no reinforcement, sir. I
am here independently, in my own capacity.
RICHARD: I beg your pardon. But you have so many capacities: soldier,
sailor, landowner, agitator, critic---- However, to business. I am
prepared to listen to what you have to say.
GLOUCESTER: It will not take long in the telling. I am authorised by
Parliament to say that no business will be transacted nor grants made
until such time as you are willing to dismiss the Chancellor, and accept
a Chancellor nominated by them.
RICHARD: By you, you mean. Is that all you have to say? I have already
refused to dismiss De la Pole. Not only have they no right to demand
such a thing, but they have produced not one excuse for such an
outrageous request. Michael de la Pole has served this country well,
both in my grandfather's time and mine---- But it is not for me to
defend my Chancellor to you.
GLOUCESTER: He will have need of defence presently. If you refuse to
consent to their demands Parliament will take other means of ensuring
that their wishes are granted.
RICHARD: Their wishes! They are nothing but a hundred mouths for your
own utterance! I would not dismiss a scullion at their bidding. Go back
and tell them that. Tell them that the Duke of Gloucester may own
Parliament, but Richard is still King of England.
GLOUCESTER: If you refuse to listen, sir, I am deputed to tell you that
De la Pole will be impeached.
RICHARD: Impeached! There is nothing on which they could base an
impeachment. You cannot try a man without accusing him of something.
ARUNDEL: There will be ample accusation.
RICHARD: You will see to that, you mean!
GLOUCESTER: And furthermore----
RICHARD: Go on! Let us hear the whole of the enormity!
GLOUCESTER: Parliament considers that your present advisers are
incompetent and a danger to the country.
RICHARD: I have heard that before. They have failed to show in what way
they are incompetent or dangerous.
GLOUCESTER: And that from now on the King should be subject to a
committee of advisers of greater worth and stability.
RICHARD: I should be subject to----! Are you mad? Do you know what you
are saying? There is no such provision in the Constitution.
GLOUCESTER: In times of emergency new provisions must be made. It is
suggested that the committee consist of Lord Arundel, the Duke of York,
myself, two archbishops, and six other persons.
RICHARD (_almost speechless with rage_): You are a brave man,
Gloucester, to stand there and make a suggestion like that.
GLOUCESTER: I have excellent backing. My support does not end with the
handful of men waiting for me in the courtyard.
RICHARD: You had better go before I forget even that handful of men in
the courtyard. I could imagine things worth losing a crown for.
GLOUCESTER: Losing a crown may be easier and more immediate than you
think, sir. There may not be precedent for a governing committee, but
there is excellent precedent for deposing a king.
RICHARD: Is there no limit to your insolence?
GLOUCESTER: There is very little limit to our power. In the present
troubled state of the country the people will accept any measures which
a strong Government choose to propose.
RICHARD: And who is responsible for the troubled state of the country?
Not I! By God, not I! You have built this situation brick by brick;
built it out of your own spite and contentiousness. You have hedged me
round with lies until I am as much in prison as if you had built stone
walls round me. You dare not murder me, so you murder my reputation. You
have misrepresented every action of mine, from the attempt to make peace
with France to the gift of two marks to a page, until my name stands for
everything that is wanton and contemptible. There is nothing that has
not been used for your own ends. You have taken the prospect of a petty
French raid and crazed the people with rumours of an invasion. You blame
me for the raid, and when it comes to nothing you will claim that the
defeat was due to your own foresight. There is nothing you will not
stoop to in your campaign of lies, no slander so foul that you will not
make use of it. You murder me by little bits, murder the thing that is
me, and I have no redress. I cannot go out into the streets and shout:
"It is not so! I am not that! When I did such and such it was because of
this and not because of that!" If my friends give the lie to your
slander the people smile and say: "You are his friends. We hardly
expected you to say otherwise." There is no stopping it! One cannot
fight whispers any more than one can hold back Thames with one's hands.
They laugh and run through one's fingers. And you have done this to me!
You who come here in all your sanctity of self-righteousness to say what
I shall or shall not do.
GLOUCESTER: I speak for the people.
RICHARD: The people! Poor little puppets who are cozened by this knave
and that, until they do not know what they believe or why. I have never
cozened them, nor will I truckle to them. The Constitution says that the
King is the Law. It is for him to see that it is kept from being made a
plaything by princes drunk with power and Commons rotten with bribery.
Go back and tell them that, Gloucester! Tell them that!
GLOUCESTER: I warn you, Richard, that if you don't come back to London
within the next two days, an end will be put to the situation by
removing the stumbling block. The situation is paralleled very closely
in the case of your great-grandfather, Edward the Second; and I need
hardly remind you of his fate.
RICHARD: You dare to hold that over my head! Get out of my sight. Get
out of my sight, before it is too late. Do you hear me? Leave Eltham at
once, you and your henchman. And be quick before it is too late.
ARUNDEL: We are going, sir. All that we came to say has been said.
GLOUCESTER: And all the answer we take back is that we left an
hysterical boy, throwing the cushions about in his rage.
RICHARD: Oh, go, for God's sake go, and be thankful to your saints that
you go at all.
[GLOUCESTER _and_ ARUNDEL _go_.
RICHARD _snatches the dagger from his girdle as though he would follow
them, but instead flings himself on the table, stabbing promiscuously
and sobbing in incoherent rage_.
Curse him! Oh, curse him! Oh, God, why do you let the fiend live!
[_Exhausted, he leaves the knife sticking in the table._
_Enter_ SIR SIMON BURLEY.
Burley!
BURLEY: So you are glad to see old Burley?
RICHARD: I am always glad to see you, Simon. I don't have to be anything
that I'm not with you. You've known the worst about me ever since I was
five. And what is still better, I don't have to keep wondering what is
in your mind.
BURLEY: Is it that I am so simple? Or because I have given you a piece
of it so often?
RICHARD: Have you come to give me a piece of it now?
BURLEY: I have come with bad news, Richard. (_He removes the knife from
the table._) Carving one's initials is a plebeian pastime, my son.
RICHARD (_shamefaced_): I lost my temper again. Gloucester has been
here.
BURLEY: Yes, I thought it was Gloucester's men in the courtyard.
RICHARD (_in a low voice_): He was unspeakable, Simon; unspeakable.
(_Holding out his hand for the dagger._) You can give me that. I am
quite better now. (BURLEY _hands over the dagger_.) They suggested the
most outrageous things. They have elected themselves into a committee to
rule me--Gloucester and Arundel and the rest, with my uncle York thrown
in to be useful and say yes when they make proposals. Did you know about
that? Was that what you came to tell me?
BURLEY: Yes, I heard about the commission. But it was a worse thing I
had to tell.
RICHARD: That they threaten to depose me?
BURLEY (_shocked_): No, not that! Did they threaten that?
RICHARD: Yes; if I don't go back to Town and do as they suggest they
will treat me as Edward the Second was treated. If you didn't know that,
what was your news?
BURLEY: That when you go back to London your five best friends are to be
accused of treason and tried.
RICHARD: Burley! No! Even if I agree to their demands?
BURLEY: I don't think any concession you could make now will turn
Gloucester from his purpose.
RICHARD: Who--who are the five?
BURLEY: Robert de Vere, Michael de la Pole, the Archbishop of York,
Bramber, and--myself.
RICHARD: You, Burley! Why you? (_As_ BURLEY _does not answer_) Because
you are my friend, is that it? That is offence enough, isn't it! But
what have any of them done but that? It is not treason to obey one's
King.
BURLEY: We have been leading you astray, apparently, and that is
accounted treason.
RICHARD: What is to be done? First of all we can raise the London
trained bands. (_As_ BURLEY _shakes his head_) What is wrong with that?
BURLEY: What is wrong is that they will not rise.
RICHARD: Not if Bramber is threatened! Bramber is the most popular mayor
that London has had for years.
BURLEY: Perhaps. But the rest of us are distinctly unpopular, it seems.
To be frank, sir, they say they have no intention of getting their heads
broken for Robert de Vere. (_As_ RICHARD _takes this mildly_) That Duke
of Ireland business was not very judicious.
RICHARD: I know. I do foolish things when I am furious. And so our cause
is unpopular?
BURLEY: Yes. But that is neither your fault nor Robert's. Gloucester has
used every underground channel in the country to achieve that end. They
pillory a fish-hawker for slander, but you cannot pillory Gloucester and
his friends.
[_Enter_ ROBERT DE VERE.
DE VERE: Richard, listen----! Oh, good day, Burley. (_To_ RICHARD) So
you have heard the news?
RICHARD: That my friends are considered traitors? Yes. Since when has
obeying the King become treason?
DE VERE: My dear Richard! You hardly do justice to Gloucester's
inventive ability. Treason is merely the general heading, so to speak.
The charge takes two hours to read, and is composed of thirty-seven
sections. That we have abused the King's tender age; that we have
induced him to waste the treasures of his realm (that is that last
tournament you gave, Richard; I told you it was a little gaudy); that we
have estranged him from loyal councillors and kinsfolk (the excellent
and loyal Duke himself, in fact); prompted him to murder Arundel and
Gloucester (when I think how often I have restrained you from hitting
Arundel over the head with a bottle!); and thirty-seventh, but by no
means least, prompted you to betray Calais. You know, the one real
mistake your poor councillors ever made, Richard, was to let you even
mention the name of that misbegotten little French village. No
Englishman is quite sane on the subject of Calais.
RICHARD: How do you know all this? Are you making it up?
DE VERE: You do me too much honour. I am quoting from Tressillian. He
has just arrived with a copy of the charge. He is included among the
traitors.
RICHARD: Tressillian too! What is to be done? Burley, bring De la Pole
here, will you? He is in the garden, I think.
DE VERE: You will find him discussing roses with the Queen in the long
alley. I left them there when I saw Tressillian arrive.
RICHARD: Don't let the Queen know yet that there is anything to worry
about.
[_Exit_ BURLEY.
It is a dreadful thing to be my friend, isn't it, Robert?
DE VERE: I have not found it so.
RICHARD: If you and I had devoted our wits and the country's wealth to,
let us say, annexing Scotland, the people would have blocked the streets
to see us, and even the maimed soldiers would have thought us fine
fellows. But because we pour most of our money into the pockets of
London tradesmen we are a despicable pair. It is a curious point of
view.
DE VERE: We are young. There is still time for us to become the complete
warriors. I think the occasion is about to be thrust on us. It is a
comforting reflection that you showed very good form on that last
Scottish campaign. You were a credit to your parentage, Richard.
RICHARD: Any man worthy of the name can fight when it is necessary. But
it is so very seldom necessary, it seems to me.
DE VERE: This time it is going to be necessary.
[_Enter_ BURLEY _with_ DE LA POLE.
RICHARD: This time? What do you mean?
DE VERE: Don't you know that Arundel has all his men mobilised at
Reigate, and Mowbray and Henry are concentrating in the Midlands? I
thought Burley told you that?
BURLEY: I didn't know! Are you sure that it is true?
DE VERE: Oh, yes. Tressillian has all the details. They are coming south
to join Gloucester at Waltham.
RICHARD: And Mowbray is with them!
DE VERE: Mowbray is with them. I told you he hankered after military
glory!
DE LA POLE: So it has come! I did not think Gloucester would have dared.
BURLEY: With a popular cause it requires little daring.
RICHARD: War, is it! Well, now we plan. Cheshire will be loyal, whatever
the rest of England may be. I must go to London, that is obvious. But
while I am keeping them quiet there by nibbling the cheese in the trap,
you must gather what forces you can in Cheshire, Robert. De la Pole, you
must get out of the country. No, don't argue. At your age you cannot
fight, and you will not add to my popularity by staying with me. Oh, my
dear old friend, don't argue. It will be so much off my mind if I know
that you, at least, are safe. It is a pitiable reward for years of
service, isn't it! To offer you _safety_, to consign you to exile. But
it is all we can do for the moment. It shall not be for long, I promise
you. I shall see you before you go. As for you, Burley, what about you?
BURLEY: I am coming back to London with you, sir.
RICHARD: No, no! That is foolish.
BURLEY: It is not foolish, sir. It is very good policy. If you and the
Queen go back alone, immediate suspicion will be the result. But if we
go back together, casually, they will not suspect that we know anything
beyond the fact that Parliament has a word or two to say to us.
RICHARD: There is something in that. Robert, take the Chancellor away,
and have horses saddled for both of you. Order a meal which you can eat
before you go. You'll need men from the bodyguard. Warn the men you
want, and let them eat while the others are preparing horses for them.
When you go downstairs send Tressillian to me.
DE VERE: Yes, sir. (_Goes out with_ DE LA POLE.)
RICHARD: What are you smiling at, Burley?
BURLEY: You sounded so like your father, sir.
RICHARD: Does that please you?
BURLEY: The Black Prince had his faults, but he was a very fine man.
RICHARD: Simon, I wish I was sure that I was letting you come with me
because it is good policy, and not because I want the comfort of your
presence.
BURLEY: There will be no danger, sir. You and the Queen can go to the
Tower instead of Westminster. That is still the King's property, and the
walls are conveniently thick.
[_Enter_ ANNE, _radiant, with a bunch of roses_.
ANNE: Look, Richard. In October! Smell, Simon. And all out of one
border. What are you looking at me like that for, Richard?
RICHARD (_smiling_): I was thinking that even if the heavens fell you
would still be there.
ANNE: Of course I should. It hardly seems a fact worth remarking on.
[RICHARD _exchanges glances with_ BURLEY, _who moves to the door, and_
RICHARD _draws_ ANNE _to a seat as the curtain falls_.
CURTAIN
SCENE V
_A room in the Tower, a month later. It is evening and growing
dusk._ RICHARD _is moving restlessly from the window, left, to the
centre of the room and back again. While he is at the window,
enter_ MAUDELYN _softly at the door, right, and begins to light the
candles_.
RICHARD (_swinging round_): Why do you creep about like that? What are
you doing? What do you want?
MAUDELYN: I came to light the candles, sir.
RICHARD: I didn't say that the candles were to be lighted, did I? Leave
them alone. It isn't time yet.
MAUDELYN: It is the usual time, sir.
RICHARD: Leave them alone, I tell you. It isn't evening yet. Has no one
come with news?
MAUDELYN (_irresolutely_): No, sir.
[RICHARD _flings round to the window again, and_ MAUDELYN _begins to
creep out, leaving the candles which he has lighted still burning_.
RICHARD (_savagely_): Put out these candles!
[MAUDELYN _turns, and hesitates_.
RICHARD: Well, what do you want!
MAUDELYN: I am sorry, sir. I did have a message when I came to light the
candles. There is news, sir.
RICHARD: News! Well, tell me! Tell me quickly.
MAUDELYN: There's been a defeat, sir. They were cut off at Radcot
Bridge. Because of the fog. It was--it was practically a rout, sir. Sir
John Molyneux surrendered himself, and they--murdered him then and
there, sir.
RICHARD: And Lord Oxford?
MAUDELYN: He--(_in his embarrassment and fear he cannot find a happier
term_) he fled, sir.
[RICHARD _strikes him across the face_.
RICHARD (_in a furious whisper_): How dare you! How dare you even think
the word!
MAUDELYN: That is the message, sir.
RICHARD: Who brought it?
MAUDELYN: A man of Ratcliffe's, sir.
RICHARD: Where is he? Let me talk to him.
MAUDELYN: He has gone, sir. He wouldn't stay in London. He was making
his escape.
RICHARD: When did this--this at Radcot--happen?
MAUDELYN: This morning, sir.
RICHARD: This morning! And it is only now I hear!
MAUDELYN: The message came some time ago, sir, but----
RICHARD: And I was not told! Dear God! I was not told! Why not? Why not?
MAUDELYN: No one had the courage to tell you, sir.
RICHARD (_suddenly quiet_): Only you. And I struck you. You say Lord
Oxford--escaped?
MAUDELYN: Yes, sir.
RICHARD (_after a pause_): You may leave the candles.
MAUDELYN (_pausing by the door_): Is there anything I can do for you,
sir?
RICHARD: No, you have done what you could. (_He slightly accentuates the
first "you."_) Wait! Has anyone told the Queen of this message?
MAUDELYN: No, sir.
RICHARD: Then find her, and say that I should like to see her.
[_Exit_ MAUDELYN. RICHARD _turns to the window again. The candles grow
brighter as the daylight fades_.
_Enter, without warning_, ROBERT DE VERE, _pale, harassed, and dirty.
He shuts the door and stands leaning against it._ RICHARD _turns as if
not quite sure that someone has really entered_.
(_In gladness_) Robert! (_In fear for him_) Robert, are you crazy when
you come here!
DE VERE: I thought I should go crazy if I didn't.
RICHARD (_remembering and withdrawing a little_): Well?
DE VERE (_after a pause_): I'm sorry, Richard.
RICHARD (_bitterly_): Are you by any chance apologising?
DE VERE: When one has no excuse there is only apology.
RICHARD: And so you are _sorry_ for throwing away the hopes of half
England.
DE VERE: Richard, I am not excusing or explaining. But I must tell you
how it happened. That is why I came here. I felt that I must tell you
myself. I don't know why. I never did like other people's explanations
of me, did I? It isn't that I want to minimise it. I just want to tell
you myself.
RICHARD: Is there any more to tell than I have already been told?
DE VERE: They've told you we were defeated?
RICHARD: Routed was the word.
DE VERE: Yes, routed. The mist was so thick that one couldn't see more
than three horses' length in any direction. The bridge looked deserted,
and we went down to it. Then Henry appeared out of the fog without
warning, and took us on the flank. It was not going to be a fight, it
was going to be a massacre, hemmed in there between Henry and the
bridge. If I could have believed in the possibility of winning, I might
have led them. As it was, I could only see the futility of the
slaughter. They were a fine lot to look at, Richard. They made a brave
sight, all those days, marching down through the Midlands, four thousand
of them. And now in ten minutes they would be masses of mangled
flesh--all for nothing. We couldn't win, caught as we were. It was
murder to let them fight.
RICHARD: And was the four thousand so perfect that you could not spare
two as scouts to reconnoitre?
DE VERE: I may be a failure, but I'm not a fool. Of course we
reconnoitred the bridge. The scouts came back to say that there was no
one there. Time was important to us, and I thought we could risk it. I
was wrong; that is all. I made a mistake in taking them to the bridge,
but not in refusing to fight. If they were all dead to-night the
situation would be the same.
RICHARD: So you advised them to surrender. Why didn't you surrender with
them?
DE VERE: To Henry!
RICHARD: Molyneux did.
DE VERE: Yes, I have heard. They killed him. Would you have preferred me
dead, Richard?
RICHARD (_in a burst_): Yes! Oh, God, yes, a thousand times! I could
have remembered you with pride then, dead with your honour safe.
DE VERE: My honour! Richard, you talk like your father. Do you expect me
to fall on my sword because my troops had to surrender?
RICHARD: You ran away. "Lord Oxford fled," says my page. A Vere bolting
across the fields like a frightened rabbit! It is a sweet picture. The
Duke of Ireland escaping. Troops in confusion may be noticed in the
rear. You coward! You paltry coward!
DE VERE: I came to apologise for my bad generalship, but it seems that I
must apologise for being alive.
RICHARD: You deserted your men when you had led them into a trap. You
were trusted to rescue your friends in London, whose only hope was in
you. And, when you failed, your only thought was your own skin. Robert
de Vere! (_He turns away to the window._)
DE VERE (_after a pause_): Perhaps you are right, Richard. You had
always a habit of being right when you were being most unreasonable. I
know that I should have stayed there. But I couldn't do it. I wanted to
live. And so I--ran away. Now I have confessed it.
RICHARD (_in a fury_): Who wanted you to confess it? Curse you, who
wanted you to confess it? Do you think I like the spectacle? Do you
think it makes it more bearable for me to see you humble yourself? Why
come to me with your excuses and abasement? Take them to those who find
interest in them!
DE VERE: Very well. I must go in any case, if I am even yet to save my
own skin. And, strange as it may seem, life is still desirable. If I get
away, it is unlikely that we shall meet again. (_He pauses hopefully,
his eyes on_ RICHARD, _who has once more turned to the window_.)
Good-bye, Richard.
[RICHARD _does not answer, and_ DE VERE _turns to the door_.
_Enter_ ANNE, _and comes face to face with_ DE VERE.
ANNE: Robert! What is it? We thought you had escaped!
DE VERE: I had to see Richard first.
[_She looks past him to_ RICHARD, _and understands that the interview
has been stormy_. RICHARD'S _back is eloquent_.
ANNE: You aren't hurt?
DE VERE: Oh, don't.
ANNE: I didn't mean that. You know I didn't. What are you going to do
now? Where are you going?
DE VERE: I am getting a boat from the Essex coast. No one will look for
me in Gloucester's country. My unpopularity will for once be a blessing.
(_He tries to smile at her._)
ANNE (_hurt by the smile, putting out her hand impulsively_): Poor
Robert!
DE VERE (_simply, without the usual façade_): My dear lady Anne. I have
to thank you for many kindnesses. Most of all, you gave me Agnes, and
made our marriage possible.
ANNE: Poor Agnes! What will she do?
DE VERE: She is coming with me.
ANNE: Be kind to her, Robert. It won't be easy for either of you in
these friendless times. But she has a gallant spirit. And I know how
happy one can be, in spite of all adversity. Good-bye.
DE VERE: Good-bye. I wish I knew a blessing to say over you. (_He
hesitates, and looks back at_ RICHARD, _still standing with his back to
the room_.) Good-bye, Richard.
[RICHARD _does not answer, and_ DE VERE _goes out_.
RICHARD (_without turning_): So you know?
ANNE: Yes; your page is crying his heart out on the stairs. He told me.
Everything is lost, it seems.
RICHARD: Yes, everything is lost. And I have said dreadful things to
Robert.
ANNE: He knows you didn't mean them, Richard.
RICHARD: I did mean them! Every word of them! He is a coward, a paltry
feeble thing with no more courage than a child. He had four thousand
men, and he was afraid to fight, afraid!
ANNE: No; his silly tender heart betrayed him. I know. That is the truth
about Robert. What he saw when Henry and his men came out of the mist
was not the glory of taking a risk, but the certainty of his men's
deaths. His imagination betrayed him. You rail against him for the very
thing that made him your friend.
RICHARD: And at a time like this he can think of Agnes!
ANNE: Oh, Richard, don't be ungenerous. Agnes is the one precious thing
he can save from the wreck. The world is falling about his ears, and you
grudge him Agnes. Think for a moment what the future is going to be for
him. All his life he is going to remember that moment at Radcot Bridge.
It is going to be a nightmare that he can never escape. Robert is not
the man to forget, or forgive himself. You know that. You don't usually
have to be told these things, Richard.
RICHARD: I know. I know what you say is true. I keep saying it to
myself. But it doesn't rid me of the anger with him--the despair! It
isn't because he lost us the battle; not altogether. It is because he
was Robert, and he didn't fight!
ANNE: Your pedestal was too high, Richard. No one could have stayed on
it. You must not blame Robert for that.
[_She moves to a chair and sits down with a small, sobbing sigh._
RICHARD: Where have you been all the afternoon? I wanted you.
ANNE: I have been to the Duke of Gloucester.
RICHARD: To Gloucester!
ANNE: To beg for Burley's life.
RICHARD: Anne! And did he--what did he say?
ANNE: It was no use. (_After a pause, as if living it over again_) I
went on my knees to him.
RICHARD (_humbly_): Anne! You make me ashamed of myself.
ANNE: Why? You are the King. You couldn't kneel to him. But I am a
woman.
RICHARD: And he wouldn't listen?
ANNE: He said that it would be more suitable if I prayed for you and for
myself.
RICHARD: That is all, then? There is nothing else we can do?
ANNE: Nothing.
RICHARD: How can they do it! In cold blood! A man who has never harmed
them. And I? What have I ever done to them? I have never put anyone to
death. I have never taken anything that was not mine. What harm have I
done any of them? Gloucester will take all Robert's lands. He will own
half England presently. And the people throw up their caps at sight of
him. "Long live Gloucester, the man of action. He kills for his gains,
instead of taxing us." And, because I kill nobody, I am a fool. But I am
being educated. They are teaching a willing pupil. To become an expert
in murder cannot be so difficult.
ANNE: Richard, my dear----
RICHARD: I swear to you, Anne, I swear to you now, that one day I shall
be revenged on all of them. Before I die I shall pay my debt, and my
friends' debt, to each single one of them. Gloucester, Arundel, Mowbray,
Henry. Before I die I shall be King in deed as well as in name; I swear
it. I shall break Arundel as twigs break underfoot; I shall make Mowbray
my plaything, and Henry my squire. As for Gloucester--(_his passionate
utterance sinks almost to a whisper_) he had better have spared Burley.
He had better have spared him!
ANNE: It is difficult to understand just why the world has fallen on top
of us like this, isn't it? We did so little wrong.
RICHARD: You forget our crimes. We wasted money on beauty instead of on
war. We were extravagant----
ANNE: I heard a piece of news when I was waiting to see Gloucester.
RICHARD: He kept you waiting?
ANNE: Oh, yes. He is that kind of man. That didn't make me angry.
RICHARD (_almost wistfully_): Nothing makes you very angry, Anne.
ANNE: Some things do--terribly.
RICHARD: What was your news?
ANNE: Parliament have voted Gloucester and Arundel twenty thousand
pounds.
RICHARD: What! (_There is a pause while he savours this in full. Then,
in a quiet, amused tone_) How Robert would have laughed! (_As the
situation overcomes him_) How Robert would have----
[_He breaks down, covers his face, and falls sobbing into a chair._
ANNE _comes to him and puts her arms round him_.
CURTAIN
ACT II
SCENE I
_An ante-room in the King's Palace of Sheen, three years later. On
the right is the door to the inner chamber, to the left the door to
the corridor; at the back a doorway to the courtyard._
_There are present two people. One is the_ DUKE OF GLOUCESTER,
_obviously waiting and obviously resentful. The other is_ MAUDELYN, _the
King's secretary, who is the page from the previous Act_. MAUDELYN, _now
about twenty, has discarded his gay silks for a clerk's sober habit. He
is seated unobtrusively at a table by the wall, busy with documents._
GLOUCESTER (_calling to_ MAUDELYN): You! How much longer am I to be kept
waiting?
MAUDELYN (_politely_): Lord Arundel is with the King, sir.
GLOUCESTER: Arundel! What does the King want with Lord Arundel?
MAUDELYN: That is something outside my business, my lord. (_Resumes his
writing._)
GLOUCESTER (_muttering_): Impudent young puppy! (_Looking again at_
MAUDELYN) I remember you. (_Coming down to him, surprised_) You used to
be Richard's page.
MAUDELYN: Yes, my lord.
GLOUCESTER: And a disgusting little fop of a page, too! (_Flicking the
clerk's dress contemptuously_) And was your intended armour too harsh
for your tender skin?
MAUDELYN (_more reminiscent than boastful_): I used to beat the other
pages in the lists.
GLOUCESTER: Then why the clerk's dress?
MAUDELYN: Because it keeps me near the King, my lord.
GLOUCESTER: That is a strange reason.
MAUDELYN: I had not hoped you would understand it, my lord.
[_Enter_ ANNE, _on her way to the inner chamber. She sees_ GLOUCESTER,
_pauses, and bows coldly. She hesitates._
ANNE (_to_ MAUDELYN): Is the King not alone?
MAUDELYN: Lord Arundel is with the King, madam.
ANNE (_turning to go_): I will come back.
GLOUCESTER: You are not looking well, madam. Does the hot weather not
agree with you?
ANNE: I am not very well. It is nothing much. A little chill.
GLOUCESTER (_with more relish than solicitude_): Have you seen a doctor,
madam? Plague is very prevalent this summer.
ANNE (_coldly_): It is nothing, thank you. (_More conciliating_) Please
do not say to the King that I do not look well. I do not want him to be
worried to-day.
GLOUCESTER: And why not to-day?
ANNE: Because to-day, I think, he is very nearly happy. (_Considering
him_) Do you know what happiness is, my lord?
GLOUCESTER: I trust so.
ANNE: I have often wondered. You handle such a precious thing so
carelessly. But it is a hardy plant, happiness. Joy--ah, no. When joy is
killed it dies for ever. But happiness one can grow again. I will come
back. (_Exit._)
GLOUCESTER (_with a contemptuous shrug_): Feverish!
[_Enter from the inner chamber the_ EARL OF ARUNDEL. _While he is
greeting_ GLOUCESTER, MAUDELYN, _who since the first mention of the_
QUEEN'S _looks has exhibited growing anxiety, follows the_ QUEEN
_out_.
ARUNDEL: Gloucester! So you've been summoned to Sheen, too!
GLOUCESTER: I have. And I cool my heels for an hour while you have an
audience. What did he want of you that took so long?
ARUNDEL: He wanted my _advice_! I don't like it. I don't like it at all!
GLOUCESTER: Don't like having your advice asked? You're unique.
ARUNDEL: I distrust meekness. And most of all I distrust the King's
meekness. (_Warming at sight of_ GLOUCESTER'S _smile_) When Richard
smiles I feel as if I were walking through long grass in a snake
country. And to-day---- There is something wrong, Gloucester. He summons
me from London, and then talks politely about ships and tonnage. And all
the time they are smiling at something else, he and Rutland and
Montague. Gloucester, do you think Richard can have something up his
sleeve?
GLOUCESTER: That would be the only justification for the sleeves. Don't
be ridiculous, Arundel! Richard is just where he was two years ago, and
that is in our hands.
ARUNDEL: Things are not _exactly_ as they were two years ago, my friend.
(_Watching the advent of someone in the corridor_) Here is at least one
weathercock which shows a change of wind!
GLOUCESTER (_following his glance, morosely_): Mowbray. Yes. I'd
forgotten him.
[_Enter_ MOWBRAY, _very magnificent, on his way to the inner chamber_.
So Mowbray comes to Court again!
MOWBRAY: I have that privilege.
GLOUCESTER: Is it the Plantagenet charm that blinds you, or those acres
in Wales?
MOWBRAY: The King has been gracious enough to grant me the estates I
claimed, and I am grateful. That is all.
ARUNDEL: And the King smiles, and you are pleased!
MOWBRAY: Why not? It is pleasant to be friendly again.
GLOUCESTER: You fool, Thomas Mowbray. Do you think Richard will ever
forget that you helped to destroy Robert de Vere?
MOWBRAY: That is all past. If the King had not forgiven my part in that,
he would not have supported me over those estates.
GLOUCESTER: You talk like a child. Because a bright toy is dangled
before your eyes, you trust the hand that holds it. You make a mistake,
my friend!
MOWBRAY (_slowly_): It may not be I who makes the mistake. (_Abruptly_)
I think I am quite capable of managing my own affairs, my lords. (_Exit
to the inner chamber._)
GLOUCESTER: God, what clothes! How the fellow apes Richard!
ARUNDEL: I wish I could see behind the silk coat. Was it those Welsh
fields that brought Mowbray to Court, or does he know something that we
don't?
GLOUCESTER: In heaven's name, Arundel!
ARUNDEL: Has it ever occurred to you that Richard might be an enemy
worthy of respect?
GLOUCESTER: That fool! That scented fop! A man who takes an hour to
choose a pair of gloves! You must be ill, Arundel, that your knees fail
before that silken packet of whims and fancies.
ARUNDEL (_angry_): My knees don't fail! I hate the creature as I hate
the--the French. I hate him all the more now that he gives me cause to
wonder.
GLOUCESTER: What cause does he give you? Because he is meek? He had
better be meek! Without backing he can do nothing. And where will he
find backing in England?
ARUNDEL (_doubtfully_): In England, no. (_With no great conviction_)
There is Lancaster, of course.
GLOUCESTER: As long as there is a crown to be had in Spain, Lancaster
will stay in Spain.
ARUNDEL: Yes, I know. I am only searching for reasons for the King's
attitude. I don't like the way he calls me Admiral.
GLOUCESTER: You are the Admiral, aren't you!
ARUNDEL: I don't like the way he says it.
GLOUCESTER: My dear Arundel, you need a tonic----
[_Enter from the inner chamber the_ KING, _his hand on the arm of_
EDWARD, EARL OF RUTLAND (_the Duke of York's son; a girlish youth,
very pretty_), _and followed by_ MOWBRAY _and_ SIR JOHN MONTAGUE.
MONTAGUE _is slightly older than the other three, and looks what he
is: a poet, a scholar, and, on occasion, an efficient soldier_.
RICHARD: Ah, my dear uncle! Discussing ships and tonnage with the
Admiral? The Admiral is so interesting on ships and tonnage. I am sorry
to have kept you waiting. Has the Queen not come?
GLOUCESTER: She was here a moment ago, but went away again when she
found that I was waiting to see you.
RICHARD: I see. Edward, find the Queen and bring her here in five
minutes. (_Exit_ RUTLAND.) Mowbray, see that your father-in-law has some
wine before he goes. You must have much to say to each other. (_As_
ARUNDEL _and_ MOWBRAY _are going out_) When next I see you, my lord, I
shall have found a use for your ships, I hope. (ARUNDEL _throws a
puzzled glance at_ GLOUCESTER, _which_ GLOUCESTER _fails to return, and
goes out with_ MOWBRAY.)
GLOUCESTER (_indicating_ MONTAGUE, _lingering by the courtyard
entrance_): Is Sir John Montague's presence necessary?
RICHARD: Not necessary, but pleasant. Sir John's presence sweetens the
atmosphere when needful, like a bunch of herbs.
GLOUCESTER: Well? You sent for me?
RICHARD: I sent for you yesterday.
GLOUCESTER: Yes. I told your messenger that I was busy. I have the
burden of this State on my shoulders.
RICHARD: I think there are ways of lightening that burden. I sent for
you to ask you a question of some importance. How old am I?
GLOUCESTER: How old? Twenty-three, I suppose.
RICHARD: You acknowledge that I am twenty-three?
GLOUCESTER: Certainly.
RICHARD: In that case I am of age; and since I am not insane, I am fit,
_by law_, to share in the government of the country and in the choosing
of my ministers. Will you tell the Treasurer, Bishop Gilbert, and the
Chancellor, Bishop Arundel, that I require their resignations.
GLOUCESTER: Resign! I don't know what good you think you are going to
do by foisting a whim like this on the council. If you hope that the
country will accept one of your own----
RICHARD: In their places I have appointed Brantingham and Wykeham. You
look disappointed? It is difficult to find objections to Brantingham and
Wykeham, isn't it? I make no other changes for the moment, except (_he
signs, unseen by_ GLOUCESTER, _to_ MONTAGUE, _who goes out_) to add one
more to the council. A month ago I sent to ask an old acquaintance of
mine to return from abroad.
GLOUCESTER (_quickly_): Robert de Vere is dead----
RICHARD: I don't forget it.
GLOUCESTER: And so is De la Pole. Who is there----
[_Enter the_ DUKE OF LANCASTER.
RICHARD: Oh, there you are. We were speaking of you.
GLOUCESTER (_astounded_): Lancaster!
LANCASTER (_advancing smiling and quizzical to his brother_): Well,
Thomas, how are you?
[_They shake hands._
GLOUCESTER: So you're back.
LANCASTER: Yesterday.
GLOUCESTER: Have you deserted your army, or have they deserted you?
LANCASTER: Still the same Thomas, as tactful as an angry wasp! My army
is coming after me as soon as transport is arranged.
GLOUCESTER (_sourly_): You had little luck in Spain, if all reports are
true.
LANCASTER: No; too much fever. It played havoc with my troops. But I
made myself so much of a nuisance that they have given me a fortune in
return for my claim to the crown.
GLOUCESTER: So you have traded your royal ambitions for money.
LANCASTER: Yes, but I have also married my daughter Katherine to the
heir.
[RICHARD _gives a small laugh_.
GLOUCESTER: I fail to see the joke.
RICHARD: My condolences.
LANCASTER: Richard has asked me to be one of the council again, so we
are to be colleagues.
RICHARD: It will give me much pleasure to have you both there.
LANCASTER (_perfectly understanding_): I have no doubt of it. (_Looking
at the_ KING) You have grown up, Richard.
RICHARD (_not smiling_): Yes, I have grown up.
LANCASTER (_hastily abandoning the subject_): Another advantage which I
plucked from my misfortunes in Spain is a peace treaty.
RICHARD: And in the next year or so we shall have peace with France, as
well as with Scotland.
GLOUCESTER: With France! Is that maggot still alive in your brain?
RICHARD: More than alive. It breeds.
GLOUCESTER: And are you going to countenance a policy like that,
Lancaster?
LANCASTER: I think, do you know, that I am. Richard has been good enough
to suggest creating me Duke of Guienne. If I go to Guienne as Duke it
will be enormously to my advantage to have a peaceful France round me.
GLOUCESTER: I see. I see. Well, it may suit the Duke of Guienne to have
peace with France, but it may not suit the people of England.
RICHARD: The people of England are less frightened by the idea than they
used to be. They grow used to it. Presently they will adopt it quite
happily, and imagine they fathered it. Some day they may even impeach
you for suggesting war, Gloucester. What a heavenly thought!
[_Enter the_ QUEEN, _with_ RUTLAND, _followed by_ MONTAGUE.
ANNE (_to_ LANCASTER): My dear uncle! I am sorry that I missed you
yesterday.
LANCASTER (_saluting her_): You are lovelier than ever, madam. You seem
to have lost your roses, but the lilies are very becoming.
ANNE: Lilies are more fashionable. Fleurs-de-lis are our token these
days.
RICHARD: And this is your nephew Edward?
LANCASTER: York's son!
RICHARD: Yes, the Earl of Rutland.
LANCASTER: Why, you were just a baby four years ago.
RICHARD: He still is. (RUTLAND _protests_.) He likes better to play with
my greyhound than attend to his duties.
LANCASTER: What are his duties?
RICHARD: To amuse me. Sir John I think you saw yesterday.
LANCASTER: Yes. But I had Sir John in Spain with me.
MONTAGUE (_puzzled_): In Spain?
LANCASTER: In my pocket. I read your poems in Castile, John. They were
water in a thirsty land.
GLOUCESTER (_to_ RICHARD): With your permission I shall take my leave. I
presume that everything I was sent for to hear has been said?
RICHARD (_grinning unashamedly_): Yes, I don't think I forgot anything.
But won't you wait for dinner?
GLOUCESTER: No, I must get back to London.
RICHARD: It is going to be a very special dinner in Lancaster's honour.
The cooks have been inventing stuffings all day.
GLOUCESTER: Eating is not one of my amusements.
RICHARD: No, I know. A hunk of cold beef on a bone is your meat. But
that is a lack in you, not a virtue. Don't pride yourself on it.
Good-bye. (GLOUCESTER _takes his leave_.) Edward, take the Duke of
Gloucester to his horse.
LANCASTER: With the King's permission, I shall see you go. I want to
hear all the news of your family. How is Humphrey?
[LANCASTER, GLOUCESTER, _and_ RUTLAND _go out_.
RICHARD (_flinging an arm exultantly round_ MONTAGUE, _and appealing to_
ANNE, _between laughter and triumph_): Who says I am not a king?
ANNE: Are you happy, Richard?
RICHARD: I begin to know the taste of it again. But there is a feast of
it coming. We shall be throwing happiness to the dogs presently, Anne,
we shall have so much of it.
ANNE: You will have deserved it, Richard. You have been very patient,
and patience comes hard for you, doesn't it!
RICHARD: It is a sweet sight to see Mowbray make his obeisance.
Stumbling over the carpet, and not looking in my eyes. A few thousand
acres of barren land--that is the price of Mowbray's allegiance.
ANNE: Perhaps he was glad to come back. He loved you once.
RICHARD: I remember. So much that he bit me like a jealous cur.
(_Brightening_) And now that Lancaster is back, Henry will come to Court
and bend his thick knee too. Anne, I've been thinking. Now that peace
with France is coming, don't you think we might do something about
Ireland?
ANNE: Isn't one always doing something about Ireland?
RICHARD: Yes--patching! I want to find out why the patches don't last. I
want to know why the English settlers in Ireland always become more
Irish than the Irish.
MONTAGUE: I think that is due less to the charm of Ireland than to the
indifference of the English. We have a habit of raising our eyebrows,
you know, at anyone who chooses to live out of England.
RICHARD: The indifference of the English? I think you are right, John,
That is why we fail. (_To_ ANNE) Now this morning I had a letter from an
Irish chief who calls himself Art--Art----(_He appeals to_ MONTAGUE.)
MONTAGUE: Art Macmurrough.
RICHARD: Art Macmurrough. John, do go and find that letter; it was very
amusing. (_To_ ANNE, _as_ MONTAGUE _goes out_) He wrote to me as one
king to another--very sensibly on the whole. I should like to talk to
that fellow, Anne. I should like to talk to all of them. Find out what
they think and why. John is right, you know. We take no interest in
them. How can the Irish be loyal to a King and Queen they never see?
Anne, I've been thinking. Anne, wouldn't it be a fine idea to make
pilgrimage to Ireland? You could teach the women to wear---- Anne,
you're not listening!
ANNE: Yes, of course I am. (_She shivers_) It's cold, isn't it?
RICHARD: Cold! I'm on fire. I'm all blazing inside as if I were lit up.
Think, Anne! soon we---- (_He understands fully what she has said._)
Cold! In this weather? What is the matter with you?
ANNE: I don't know. I have shivers up and down my back, and I
feel--strange.
RICHARD: Anne, are you ill?
ANNE: No, not ill. But I--my head feels so strange and light, and my
feet feel as if they were shod like horses'.
RICHARD: Don't, Anne; you frighten me.
ANNE: There isn't anything to be frightened of. Besides, Richard of
Bordeaux is frightened of nothing. Hasn't he faced his enemies for three
years and outfaced them in the end!
RICHARD (_in a low voice_): There are some things I---- (_Sitting down
by her_) You aren't really ill, are you, Anne? (_He puts an arm round
her._) Shall I send for your women?
ANNE (_leaning against him and closing her eyes_): No, stay there. It is
so comfortable. (_Sniffing his coat_) Is that the new perfume? It is
lovely. You always smell nice, Richard. The first time I saw you--do you
remember? in the Abbey--I thought you looked like a flower. But I didn't
know you had so many scents then! Darling Richard.
RICHARD: How long have you been feeling ill? Why didn't you tell me?
ANNE: I'm not ill. I got chilled at the pageant yesterday, that is all.
[_Enter_ RUTLAND. ANNE _starts up at sound of the opening door_.
RUTLAND: Richard, I'll go to Ireland, I'll go to hell for you, but don't
ask me to be charming to Gloucester for you. There are limits to my----
RICHARD: Send the Queen's waiting-woman here at once.
RUTLAND (_sobered by_ RICHARD'S _look_): Yes, sir. (_Exit._)
ANNE: Why do you like Edward so much?
RICHARD: I don't know. He has great charm. Don't you think so?
ANNE: No.
RICHARD: You don't like Edward, do you? Jealous?
ANNE: I was never jealous of Robert. He was more worthy of you. It's
funny how things are near one minute and miles away the next.
RICHARD: Shut your eyes and don't look at them. Oh, Anne!
ANNE: It is true about the peace with France, isn't it? Lancaster is
going to help with that?
RICHARD: Yes, our dream is coming true. We'll have the most marvellous
celebration that this country has ever seen, on the day that peace is
signed.
ANNE (_childishly_): Not a pageant. I get cold at pageants.
RICHARD: No, not a pageant. We'll think of something that no one has
thought of before. We'll search the world for beautiful things.
We'll----
[_Enter_ RUTLAND _with a_ WAITING-WOMAN.
Anne, you must go to bed.
ANNE: Oh, not to bed. What about Lancaster's dinner?
RICHARD: To bed. And at once. In fifteen minutes I shall come along to
see that you are there.
ANNE: You are a tyrant, Richard. Do you know it? You bully your most
faithful and loving subject. Perhaps it would be wise to go to bed.
You'll come soon, Richard?
RICHARD: In fifteen minutes.
[ANNE _attempts to rise, assisted by her_ WAITING-WOMAN, _but
collapses, and_ MAUDELYN, _who has appeared with a_ DOCTOR, _brings
him forward_. RICHARD _moves away to let the_ DOCTOR _come. As he
comes to her again, the_ DOCTOR, _having seen_ ANNE, _prevents him_.
DOCTOR: No, sir. You must keep away.
RICHARD (_surprised and indignant at the restraint_): What do you mean?
How dare you lay hands on me? Do you know who I am?
DOCTOR: It is because you are the King, sir, that you must keep away.
You have a duty to your subjects, and the contagion is deadly.
RICHARD (_after a pause, in a horrified whisper_): Oh, no! No!
[_The others_--RUTLAND, LANCASTER, MONTAGUE, _and others who have come
crowding in at the news of the Queen's illness--move involuntarily
away from her. Only the_ WAITING-WOMAN, _after her first instinctive
withdrawal, moves back to her with a cry of grief_.
(_In sudden complete realisation, desperate_) Anne! Anne!
[_He flings himself against the_ DOCTOR'S _detaining arm_.
CURTAIN
SCENE II
_The scene is the same. The time, two years later._ MAUDELYN _is
writing at the same little table_. SIR JOHN MONTAGUE _is lounging
near by and occasionally casting an eye over_ MAUDELYN'S _shoulder.
The_ DUKE OF YORK _and his son_, RUTLAND, _are chatting together;
and the_ DUKE OF GLOUCESTER _and the_ EARL OF ARUNDEL, _a little
apart, are listening to the conversation_.
RUTLAND (_concluding a tale, to_ YORK): Two of the kings didn't know
what forks were for, and a third tried to eat his plate. Oh, you should
have been there, father. Ireland was gorgeous! And there was another
called--called---- (_To_ GLOUCESTER) Uncle, what was the name of the
king we gave the clothes to? You remember!
GLOUCESTER: No, I don't. I didn't come to Sheen to spend the time
gossiping about Ireland. I came on business. And, now that the business
is nearly finished, I must go. (_Looking disparagingly at the
desolate-looking room_) A nice cheerful place to spend a winter
afternoon!
RUTLAND: Oh, well, the name doesn't matter. (_Continues his gossiping
to_ YORK.)
MONTAGUE (_half to himself, half to_ MAUDELYN): It was cheerful enough
two years ago.
MAUDELYN (_pausing in his writing and staring in front of him_): Yes.
She--she liked this room.
MONTAGUE: Because of the little tree in the courtyard.
MAUDELYN: And because you could see the river from the window.
YORK (_to_ RUTLAND): But the food, my dear Edward, the food must have
been very----
RUTLAND: Oh, no; we taught them how to cook, too. It was most amusing.
ARUNDEL: And did Gloucester find Ireland so amusing?
GLOUCESTER: Amusing! To see the King of England feasting barbarians and
presenting them with gifts? Knighting traitors instead of quartering
them? It turned my stomach.
MONTAGUE: At least we have achieved what no one has achieved for two
hundred years: goodwill as well as peace in Ireland.
GLOUCESTER: The mistake you all make is to imagine that the Irish want
peace. They are only waiting until our backs are turned.
ARUNDEL: London didn't like the sound of those banquets very much. The
usual insane extravagance!
MONTAGUE: A military expedition would have cost ten times as much,
including several hundred lives, and achieved nothing.
[_Enter_ MOWBRAY, _with a paper, which he lays on the table for_
MAUDELYN'S _use_.
MOWBRAY: Has the King not come back?
GLOUCESTER: No, he hasn't. I had expected to be half way back to London
by now. It shows a distinct lack of consideration to leave us like this
when----
YORK: The message may have been important.
ARUNDEL: Yes, it may have been a message of love from the French which
had to be answered without delay.
GLOUCESTER: Even that could surely have waited until we had decided the
date of Parliament. That was all that remained to be done. They could
have answered a dozen letters in this time.
ARUNDEL: I expect that he and Lancaster are deciding what time the sun
should rise to-morrow.
MOWBRAY (_looking round, as if he had missed_ LANCASTER _for the first
time_): Lancaster? Perhaps I had better go and find them. The King may
have forgotten that the business wasn't finished. (_Exit._)
ARUNDEL (_looking after him_): Or been too long with Lancaster?
GLOUCESTER: Forgotten that the business wasn't finished!
YORK (_pacifically_): This is the King's first visit to Sheen since the
Queen's death. He is bound to find it a little upsetting.
GLOUCESTER: Pose, my dear brother, all pose! Richard likes his moods as
becoming as his clothes.
RUTLAND: How dare you say that the King could pretend about a thing like
that! You know quite well that all the time he was in Ireland he could
never bear to----
MONTAGUE: Rutland! My dear Edward, that gage is hardly worth picking up,
surely?
RUTLAND: He shouldn't say such things. He knows they are lies. And to
lie about a thing like that--something that----! How can he!
[_Enter the_ KING _with_ LANCASTER _and_ MOWBRAY _following_.
RICHARD: I had not forgotten you, my lords, but I had other business.
GLOUCESTER: I should have thought that private business with Lancaster
could have waited on public affairs. It is inconvenient enough for me to
come all the way to Sheen for a council without wasting time at the end
of it.
RICHARD: Be assured, my lord. You will never come to Sheen again.
GLOUCESTER: No?
RICHARD: I have given orders that the place shall be pulled down.
GLOUCESTER: Pull down the palace of Sheen? Are you crazy? What
wantonness of destruction is this?
RICHARD: What I destroy is bricks and mortar. What is there in that to
make _Gloucester_ squeamish? About the date for assembling Parliament,
my lords, would a fortnight hence be too soon?
ARUNDEL: The sooner the better. It is time that some attention was paid
to England.
RICHARD: If all reports are true, England is well content. I may even
yet become popular, it seems.
GLOUCESTER: With Calais just across the water? Let me tell you that "God
save Richard" still means "God save Calais" to an Englishman.
RICHARD: To a Londoner, perhaps. But London is not England.
GLOUCESTER: In matters of policy it is.
RICHARD: Oh? Then why does my lord of Arundel waste his time
in--Cheshire?
ARUNDEL (_disconcerted_): In Cheshire! I have not been nearer Cheshire
than the north of Wales.
RICHARD: Then rumour slanders you most foully, my lord. We must
investigate the matter when Parliament meets. Shall we say the 25th?
(_As the others agree_) The business will be mainly routine.
GLOUCESTER (_preparing to go_): But not entirely routine, I hope. There
will surely be the matter of a foreign alliance. The sooner you marry
again the better.
[_There is a moment of complete silence._
RICHARD: You expect me to protest. I am going to disappoint you. I am
going to marry again. At the earliest possible moment I shall marry the
daughter of the King of France.
GLOUCESTER: A French alliance!
ARUNDEL: Marry a child! A child of eight!
YORK: My dear Richard----! You can't be serious.
RICHARD: After fifty years of war we have achieved peace with France. I
am going to see to it that that peace is not broken in my lifetime.
YORK: And for that you are prepared to marry a child, too young to be
either companion or wife to you? Is it wise, sir? There are other things
to be considered. There is--there is the matter of an heir, for
instance.
RICHARD (_savagely_): Have my uncles not children enough! (_Recovering_)
There is no need for argument, my lords. The affair is practically
settled.
GLOUCESTER: And what will the people say when you present them with a
child as Queen, and a French brat at that?
MONTAGUE: They'll crowd the streets to see her, and tell each other how
sweet she is. You forget the English passion for children, Gloucester.
For once you miscalculate.
MOWBRAY (_with menace_): It won't be the last time that Gloucester
miscalculates.
LANCASTER: If you look at the matter without prejudice, my lords, I
think you must see that the results of this alliance are likely to be
very happy for England.
ARUNDEL (_beside himself_): Happy! To have every scullion in France
sniggering at us! To know that it is said everywhere that our King is so
little a man that he must----
MOWBRAY: Shut your mouth, Arundel, or I'll shut it for you!
ARUNDEL: Yes, Mowbray is famous for his strong arm methods, isn't he.
But I'm not afraid of you, Mowbray. I'm not afraid of any of you. I
protest against this ridiculous marriage, and the alliance it is
supposed to further. We are being made a plaything for France, and no
one protests. The King and Lancaster are farming the country, and this
council is a mockery.
YORK: My dear Lord Arundel----
ARUNDEL: Be quiet! If you had stomach for anything but food, you would
be protesting too. It is iniquitous that this council should be merely
an echo for whatever the King and Lancaster choose to speak.
RICHARD: If that is how Lord Arundel feels about the council, the
obvious course is resignation.
GLOUCESTER: Why should Arundel resign merely because he disapproves! You
refuse free speech to anyone who disagrees with you.
RICHARD: I have always found you both marvellously free of speech.
RUTLAND: What the King objects to is not free speech, but bad manners.
ARUNDEL: Manners are being the ruin of this country. The mode is
everything, and the method nothing. And now you think that free wine and
coronation processions will blind the people to what you are doing. But
I warn you, you make a mistake. The people will find a coronation little
compensation for a French alliance. (_Taking his leave_) With your
permission---- (_Exit._)
YORK: Lord Arundel is hasty, sir. I trust you will treat anything he
says as the utterance of his anger, and not of his considered judgment.
RICHARD (_dryly_): I have great experience of Lord Arundel's considered
judgment.
GLOUCESTER: Arundel has warned you, and I warn you! You propose to make
us a joke for the whole of Europe, do you? You propose to sell us to
France, in a marriage treaty, do you? Well, you can't do it. You can't
do it, I tell you! You may be lords of Parliament, and sure of your
majority in council, but you are not yet lords of what the common people
think. I may be helpless here in council, but I am not yet helpless out
of it. If you want me I shall be at Pleshy. (_Exit._)
RICHARD (_wearily_): Well, my dear Lancaster, we seem to have stirred a
hornet's nest.
LANCASTER: More buzz than sting, I think.
RICHARD: The buzz is sufficiently distracting.
MONTAGUE: It has been a long day, sir. Gloucester will seem less
tiresome after dinner, when you are less tired.
RICHARD (_bitterly_): I am very tough, I find. It amazes me, sometimes,
to find how much a human being is capable of surviving. Are those papers
ready, Maudelyn?
MAUDELYN: They will be in a moment, sir.
RICHARD: I shall sign them now, then. Don't wait, my lords. Perhaps you
can convert the Duke of York to our French alliance, Lancaster.
LANCASTER: I shall try. (_He goes out with_ YORK, _followed by_
MONTAGUE.)
[_The others_, MOWBRAY _and_ RUTLAND, _who, since the_ DUKE OF
GLOUCESTER'S _exit, have been talking together, linger at a sign from
the_ KING.
MOWBRAY: So Gloucester is bent on making trouble.
RUTLAND: Is he ever anything else? Has he not tried to wreck every idea
we ever had as soon as we launched it?
MOWBRAY: We've been very patient, Richard. We should be fools to wait
any longer. Say the word, and I shall see that he is quiet in future. I
shall do the job myself.
RICHARD: You were always a bloodthirsty wretch, Mowbray.
MOWBRAY: I know how to kill an adder when I see one.
RICHARD: It is of Arundel that I want to speak to you. I think the time
is ripe to deal with Arundel. I shall have him arrested to-morrow for
treason. Five years ago he judged my friends traitors, on trumped-up
charges. We shall not need to invent charges. He has had five years'
rope to hang himself with. You two, with John Montague and two or three
others, will be his accusers.
RUTLAND: Accuse Arundel! It would please me more than a dukedom.
RICHARD: You may get the dukedom too.
MOWBRAY: But what about Gloucester? Is he going free?
RICHARD (_almost caressingly_): No, not free. No. I have been thinking.
He has a great affection for Calais, it seems. He is besotted about it.
Now, you are Captain of Calais, Thomas. And Gloucester is an old friend,
not to say ally, of yours----
MOWBRAY: Oh, Richard, I thought that was forgiven!
RICHARD: So perhaps it would be appropriate if you were to show him
Calais. Look after him well and show him the sights. Yes?
MOWBRAY: That is a good idea. Out of England. You are a genius, Richard.
RICHARD: His health has not been good lately, so look after him well. He
might succumb unexpectedly.
RUTLAND: But will he go?
RICHARD: I shall go down to Pleshy and bring him back with me. Before we
get to London you can join us, Mowbray, and persuade him to go to Calais
with you. We can arrange the details at supper to-night.
[_Enter_ LANCASTER.
LANCASTER: Aren't you coming to dinner, Richard?
[_The conspirators melt away._
RICHARD: Coming, my good Lancaster, coming. Your impatience for the
table does you credit at your age.
LANCASTER (_apprehensively_): Richard, what are you plotting?
RICHARD (_arming_ LANCASTER _to the door_): Nothing but good, my dear
uncle, nothing but good.
CURTAIN
SCENE III
_A street in London, evening, three weeks later. Two_ MEN
_conversing. There are passers-by at frequent intervals, and, as
they pass, the men pause in their conversation. They are very
self-important and mysterious, and are greatly enjoying their
solemnity._
FIRST MAN: Well I have it at first hand. My cousin knows the captain of
the barge that took him off. He says one of Mowbray's men laughed and
said: "Take farewell of the Duke, won't you? It may be a long time
before you see him again!"
SECOND MAN: I don't suppose there is any doubt that he was---- (_He nods
suggestively._)
FIRST MAN: Well, as one man of the world to another, what is there for
us to think? And there is this other business---- (_He pauses._)
SECOND MAN: The treason affair, you mean?
FIRST MAN: That is what I mean. The two things hang together, don't
they?
SECOND MAN: Well, I must admit I don't approve of hole-and-corner
business, but I don't feel like shedding tears over either of them. (_As
they are joined by a third_ MAN) Well, Hobb?
THIRD MAN: Discussing the events of the day? What do _you_ think of
them?
FIRST MAN: What is one to think? What is one to think?
THIRD MAN: It's pretty obvious, I should say, putting two and two
together.
FIRST MAN: That's what _I_ say. My cousin knows the captain of the barge
that took them off, and he says that one of Mowbray's men laughed and
said: "Take farewell of the Duke, won't you? It will be a long time
before you see him again." What are you to make of that?
SECOND MAN: Well, I can't help thinking that neither of them was any
loss. If everything that You Know Who had done in his time was as
sensible as this, he would get more people to cry, "God save him."
THIRD MAN: Yes, the old man was a bad lot. And so was the other, in a
way. But that doesn't alter the fact that--well----
FIRST MAN: Did you hear that a Certain Person went to Pleshy himself,
and led Someone into an ambush?
THIRD MAN: No! Is that true? Did you hear anything definite as to what
happened at Calais?
FIRST MAN: No, no; nobody knows that, of course. We can only put two and
two together. But, as men of the world, I don't think it is difficult
to----
[_Enter, from opposite ends of the street, two_ WOMEN. _One carries a
sack of loaves slung over her shoulder, the other is carrying a basket
of vegetables in front of her. As they pass on opposite sides of the
street they notice each other, but are both too much burdened to stop._
WOMAN WITH LOAVES (_calling cheerfully as they pass_): Hullo, Meg! All
well? So they've murdered the Duke of Gloucester at last!
WOMAN WITH VEGETABLES: That they have! And good riddance, I say. Did
they cut his throat?
WOMAN WITH LOAVES (_her voice rising to still more power as they draw
apart_): No, hit him over the head, they do say. Heard about Lord
Arundel?
WOMAN WITH VEGETABLES: Who hasn't? I don't give much for his chances.
WOMAN WITH LOAVES: Nor me! What times! And flour gone up a halfpenny!
[_They go out at opposite sides. The three_ MEN _stare after them in
silence_.
FIRST MAN (_after a pause_): I always said that women had no discretion.
SECOND MAN: _Nor_ accuracy.
THIRD MAN: _Nor_ a sense of proportion.
[_They turn to their gossiping again._
CURTAIN
SCENE IV
_A balcony in the King's Palace of Westminster, overlooking the
hall; three years later. Night. Music from below and the sounds of
a social gathering. Two_ PAGES _leaning by the railings and
watching the scene in the hall_.
FIRST PAGE: I hate parties. The palace is never one's own until they are
over. And then there is the clearing up.
SECOND PAGE: Did you see the King's face when I spilt the sauce over
that fat old boy in the leather coat?
FIRST PAGE: Talking of fat, Henry is putting on weight, isn't he? He
must do himself well on those crusades.
SECOND PAGE: He does himself well always. Hadn't he seven children
before he was thirty?
FIRST PAGE: I think I can hear his voice booming from here. (_Peering in
an effort to locate_ HENRY) Between his voice and the children I don't
wonder his wife died.
SECOND PAGE: It's fun up here. You can see what everyone is doing. Now
they're going to dance. Why do you think the De Courcy woman wears
purple?
FIRST PAGE (_still peering into a different corner of the hall_): Look!
They're quarrelling!
SECOND PAGE: Who? Where?
FIRST PAGE (_pointing_): Henry. He's quarrelling with Mowbray.
SECOND PAGE: So they are. Goodness! _Really_ quarreling.
[_As the sound of the quarrel grows, the expressions on the faces of
the_ PAGES _change from excited interest to dismay_.
FIRST PAGE: They're coming up here! (_They back away a little from the
railing._) Let's go. Quick!
[_They go out as_ MOWBRAY _and_ HENRY, _flushed and furious, come up
from the hall, followed immediately by_ LANCASTER _and_ RUTLAND, _who
are endeavouring to keep them apart_.
MOWBRAY: Call me a traitor, would you! Liar that you are! What are you
trying to do? Spoil my standing with the King? You can't do it, let me
tell you. The King is my friend.
HENRY: You'll find out how much your friend he is if I tell a tale or
two.
MOWBRAY: Do you think he'd believe your lies? When did he ever trust
you, Henry? If you weren't Lancaster's son he wouldn't even tolerate
you.
HENRY: And you think he trusts you, you turncoat? Well, try him. Just
try him.
LANCASTER: Are you crazy, Henry, to stir up trouble in this way?
HENRY: It was Mowbray who stirred it, not I!
[_Enter the_ KING.
RICHARD: What is the meaning of this? You may not love each other as old
allies should, but must you brawl in public, and under my roof?
LANCASTER (_in great anxiety_): Take no notice, sir. They have both
drunk more than is good for them. They don't know what----
MOWBRAY: Do you suggest that I am drunk? I am sober enough to know that
your son has accused me of plotting against the King. Is Henry going to
take refuge behind the excuse that he is drunk, or is he going to answer
my challenge and fight like a gentleman?
HENRY: Of course I am going to fight! When and where you please. You
cannot call me a liar and go unharmed for it.
RICHARD: Will someone explain?
HENRY: Yes, sir. I'll explain. We were riding up from Brentford together
about a month ago, and your faithful servant Mowbray tried to persuade
me that you had never forgiven either of us, and that our best course
was to band together for our common protection.
MOWBRAY: You lie! It was you who made that suggestion. Why should I say
a thing like that? I am Earl Marshal of England and the King is my
friend. You are a liar, Henry.
[_He strikes him deliberately across the face with his glove._
HENRY: And you are both a liar and a hypocrite.
[_He picks up the glove._
LANCASTER: Henry, for God's sake, don't! You are digging your own grave.
RICHARD: A charming scene! And so you fight, do you?
LANCASTER: Forbid them, sir. There is no need to take an evening quarrel
so seriously.
RICHARD: You think not? But it was not to-night that the conversation
they speak of took place. They both admit that there was such a
conversation. Their quarrel is merely who said what. If they choose to
fight, let them. Why should I prevent it?
LANCASTER: For your own fair name, sir.
RICHARD: For my name! How does it concern me?
LANCASTER: It concerns you because such a fight can have but one result.
You, and I, and everyone else, know that Mowbray can beat my son. If you
let this matter be decided by a duel, it will be said that you arranged
the affair.
RICHARD: All my life rumour has flayed me; my skin has grown hardened.
HENRY (_to_ LANCASTER): How dare you say that I cannot beat Mowbray!
LANCASTER: You know very well that you have never beaten Mowbray in the
lists since you grew up.
RICHARD: It is some time since they were matched.
LANCASTER: You are determined to have this fight?
RICHARD: If they do not fight, what is the alternative?
LANCASTER: The alternative is to overlook what is merely an evening
quarrel occasioned by too much wine and the consciousness of old enmity.
RICHARD: Old alliance, you mean, surely? Come, Lancaster, you know that
these two are as sober as you or I. They are quite seriously accusing
each other of a grave offence against peace and honour. If they want to
fight, I shall do nothing to prevent it. This thing must have an issue.
You must see that. I will have neither my Court nor my country turned
into a bear-garden when it seems good to my subjects. There must be an
end to this bickering. That is all, my lords.
[MOWBRAY _and_ HENRY _go out, but_ LANCASTER _lingers_.
Well, old friend and enemy? What is it now?
LANCASTER: You know very well, Richard. I forgave you for what you did
to Gloucester, because it was, in a way, a just retribution; although it
was iniquitous that you should have been the means of it. But this is
wanton. Henry may have harmed you once----
RICHARD: You think he would not harm me again? Well, perhaps not. But do
you seriously think that I set Mowbray on to this?
LANCASTER: I know you didn't. Chance has delivered them both into your
hands.
[RICHARD _looks suddenly and intently at_ LANCASTER.
RICHARD (_after a pause_): You are a clever man, Lancaster.
LANCASTER: It doesn't matter to me what you intend to do with Mowbray.
All that concerns me is that he will kill my son if they are allowed to
fight.
RICHARD: You don't flatter Henry. It was tactless of you to decry his
fighting powers. He is very vain of his talent in that respect.
LANCASTER: You never liked Henry much, did you, Richard?
RICHARD: No, he was such a show-off when he was small, and he never grew
out of it.
LANCASTER: Yes. He is not very lovable. A solid person; stupid, a
little--but dependable. It is a type that the Englishman admires and
understands, though, Richard. You would do well to be careful.
RICHARD: Is this a threat?
LANCASTER: My dear Richard, have I ever threatened you, even when I was
in a position to do so? And just now I am a suppliant, not an overlord.
I am merely warning you of what the consequences may be; a little
because there are many things in you that I like and admire, but mostly
because my son is in danger. I neither like nor admire my son
particularly, but he is my _son_. Richard, if I have ever served you
well in times when you needed service greatly, remember it now and
forbid this duel.
RICHARD: You have certainly served me well, and I have always
acknowledged it.
LANCASTER: Your gifts have been princely, I know. I have been well
recompensed. You do not have to remind me. But I have never _begged_ for
anything before.
RICHARD (_after a pause_): The alternative is exile. Ten years' exile.
LANCASTER: Ten years! It is a reprieve for Henry, but not for me. I am
not as young as I was, and my health---- Ten years---- (_He considers._)
RICHARD (_conversationally_): Mowbray goes for life.
LANCASTER (_astounded_): For life! (_A pause._) I see. You have a long
memory, Richard.
RICHARD: An excellent memory.
LANCASTER: But ten years' exile for Henry punishes me more than Henry.
RICHARD: Very well, we shall make it six. That will be no hardship for
anyone that I can see. Henry is more often out of England than in it.
LANCASTER: Thank you. That may be still too long for me, but I cannot
complain. Henry has put himself in the wrong, and you have taken your
chance. I wish you could have found it in your heart to be generous over
this, Richard; to have overlooked the whole thing.
RICHARD: There is no question of either generosity or the reverse when
one pays debts.
LANCASTER: Anne might have counselled generosity.
RICHARD (_furious_): Be quiet! How dare you, Lancaster? Even you cannot
say that to me.
LANCASTER: I beg your pardon.
[_Enter a_ PAGE.
PAGE: The Earl of Derby and the Earl of Nottingham wish the King's
approval of the day they have chosen for the contest.
RICHARD: Are Lord Derby and Lord Nottingham still in the palace?
PAGE: They are in the ante-room, sir.
RICHARD: Ask them to come here.
[_Exit_ PAGE.
LANCASTER: I am sorry, Richard. I shouldn't have said that.
RICHARD (_still in pain_): No.
[_Enter_ MOWBRAY _and_ HENRY.
I have decided that such a duel as you contemplate will have a bad
effect both in London and in the country generally. I forbid it.
BOTH: But, sir----!
RICHARD: That is enough. I forbid it. But do not imagine that I am going
to put up with your factiousness. There will be no peace for anyone
while either of you is still in this country. I am sending you both
abroad. You, Henry, will leave England for six years. And you, Mowbray
(MOWBRAY _allows a faintly conspiratorial smile to appear_), will leave
England and never come back. (MOWBRAY'S _smile vanishes in puzzlement_.)
[HENRY _is about to burst into protest, but_ LANCASTER _restrains him_.
Nothing but my generosity restrains me from arraigning you both before a
court of law, when your fates would probably be inconceivably harsher.
You may go now. I shall expect you both to take formal leave of me
before you depart from England. Lancaster, you will be responsible for
your son's acceptance of his punishment.
LANCASTER: I will. If you will permit me, sir, I too will take leave of
you now.
RICHARD: Take leave? Where are you going?
LANCASTER: At my age the life of Courts is upsetting. I think a quiet
existence at one of my manors will be more greatly to my mind in future.
RICHARD: Very well. Let it be as you please. When you want to come to
Court you know that you will be welcome.
[LANCASTER _takes his leave and goes out with_ HENRY, _but_ MOWBRAY
_lingers_.
Well, my dear Thomas, have you grown roots?
MOWBRAY: Richard, you were bluffing, weren't you? What do you really
mean me to do?
RICHARD: I thought that I had made that perfectly plain. As soon as you
have settled your estates to your satisfaction, you leave England for
good.
MOWBRAY: But you can't mean that, Richard! You can't! What have I done?
Because Henry and I quarrelled is surely no reason to punish me? I've
been your friend for years now. You can't believe the things he said.
You can't believe that I plotted against you. Haven't I been your right
hand? Didn't I help you with Gloucester? Didn't I?
RICHARD: And who more appropriate?
MOWBRAY: What do you mean? I don't understand you, Richard. Is a
sentence of exile to be my reward? Indefinite exile! Think of it! To
leave everything I have in England, and not know whether I shall ever
see it again! It's unthinkable.
RICHARD: You thought it a very happy fate for Robert de Vere.
MOWBRAY: Robert de Vere! (_A pause._) Oh! (_There is in the
half-whispered exclamation a whole world of understanding and despair._)
RICHARD: There are surely worse fates than exile, my friend. Simon
Burley--you remember him? a charming old man--died on Tower Hill, an
ugly death. And Archbishop Neville, you knew him; he starved to death in
a country parish. And there was Bramber, and Tressillian---- But why go
on? It is a depressing subject. Beside such fates as these, a well-to-do
exile seems almost happy, doesn't it? You have your fortune, and the
world is yours to choose from; you have little to complain of, it seems
to me. (_As_ MOWBRAY _says nothing_) Well, are you dumb as well as
rooted?
MOWBRAY: You take my breath away.
RICHARD: No, no. That is just what I am pointing out. You may breathe
until you die of old age, in any country in the world but England. Give
thanks to God, Thomas Mowbray, and take your luck as it comes. You have
never known what it was to suffer misfortune. All your life you have
been friends with the party in power. You could hardly expect such luck
to last for ever!
MOWBRAY: So you never trusted me, Richard.
RICHARD (_preparing to go_): My dear Thomas, the only persons I trust
are two thousand archers, paid regularly every Friday. (_Exit._)
CURTAIN
SCENE V
_A room in the lodgings of the_ EARL OF DERBY, _in Paris, three
years later_.
_The table is strewn with small pieces of armour which_ HENRY,
_humming tunelessly, is engaged in polishing. Among the armour
is a flask of wine._
_At the moment he is burnishing a gauntlet_, con amore.
_Enter a_ PAGE.
HENRY: Well? (_Exhibiting the gauntlet_) There's what I call a polish.
That's what my gauntlets should look like, you young sluggard! (_Dabbing
a forefinger at the joints_) No rust in the hinges and (_flexing his
fingers_) a shine on the fingers that blinds the other fellow when your
hand moves. See? Well, what do you want?
PAGE: A kind of priest person has arrived in Paris to see Lord Derby. He
says he comes from England.
HENRY: From England, eh? Let him come in.
PAGE: He is very shabby, sir. Had I better ask him his business?
[ARUNDEL, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, _appears behind the_ PAGE.
CANTERBURY: Forgive my intrusion, my lord. I feared to entrust my
credentials to your page, and my habit is not--reassuring.
HENRY (_peering at him_): Well, I'm----! (_He motions to the_ PAGE, _who
goes out_.) Canterbury! My dear Archbishop! "A sort of priest person!"
(_He laughs._) What are you doing in France, and in that get-up? Are
_you_ on pilgrimage?
CANTERBURY: Only to you, my lord.
HENRY: Since when has Henry Derby been a saint!
CANTERBURY: I am not so much a pilgrim as an ambassador.
HENRY: Ambassadors are sent to princes, my lord, not to poor exiles.
CANTERBURY (_glancing round_): Your exile, I am delighted to observe,
appears not too greatly uncomfortable.
HENRY: Not bad, not bad. It would have been more comfortable if I could
have married the Duke of Berry's daughter. Richard was a dog in the
manger to object to that.
CANTERBURY: When the King sent you into exile it was no part of his plan
that you should make yourself popular in France.
HENRY: What did he expect me to do? Die of the sulks like Thomas
Mowbray? They give you very good hunting in France.
CANTERBURY: The King has always looked upon France as his own preserve.
HENRY: Yes. I suppose he would have had me turned out of France too, if
my father didn't happen to be Duke of Lancaster.
CANTERBURY (_after a pause_): My lord, you--are the Duke of Lancaster.
HENRY: Do you---- Is my father dead?
CANTERBURY: That is what I came to tell you.
HENRY (_after a pause_): We didn't always see eye to eye, you know.
(_Another pause._) He had a fine seat on a horse. So you are an
ambassador! But why did Richard choose you?
CANTERBURY: I do not come from the King, my lord. I represent all those
persons with whom you have been corresponding in England. (_As_ HENRY
_moves abruptly_) Don't be alarmed, my lord. Your cause is mine.
HENRY (_heartily and quite without irony, as one sufferer to another_):
Yes, I heard that he had dismissed you.
CANTERBURY: You do not rate my motives very highly.
HENRY: I'm a practical man, my lord.
CANTERBURY (_with a little bow_): I shall endeavour to keep the
conversation at a practical level. The King says that you shall stay in
exile. I am here to suggest that you return to England.
HENRY (_playing with a gauntlet_): It is a very kind suggestion, but the
King has ten thousand excellent reasons against it.
CANTERBURY: The King is going to Ireland.
HENRY: Oh? More feasts to the charming Irish?
CANTERBURY: No. This time it is a visit of retribution.
HENRY: Oh, have the Irish been misbehaving again?
CANTERBURY: Very gravely. They have killed Roger Mortimer.
[_The hand which is playing with the gauntlet is suddenly still._
HENRY (_after a pause_): It was tactless of them to kill the King's
heir. So Richard is going to Ireland?
CANTERBURY (_watching the hand_): Yes. He is taking all the available
troops with him.
HENRY (_with an effort at lightness_): An expensive expedition!
CANTERBURY: Very. But the Lancaster estates are to provide the expenses.
HENRY (_throwing down the gauntlet_): No! No! After his promises to my
father? He wouldn't dare. What excuse has he?
CANTERBURY: His excuse is that he promised for Lancaster's peace of
mind. And that, he says, is now assured.
HENRY: I always despised Richard, but I didn't think him capable of
_this_ iniquity.
CANTERBURY: Say, rather, of this folly.
HENRY: Folly?
CANTERBURY: To make you from a mere exile into a martyr. No wrong rouses
your Englishman to such sympathy as disinheritance. The King has
committed in his time many follies, but this is--stupidity!
HENRY (_slowly_): Yes, it is--stupidity. (_Puzzled, almost enquiring_)
He used not to be stupid.
CANTERBURY (_thoughtlessly_): So even you see that?
HENRY: Even I?
CANTERBURY (_amending_): After some years of exile. You realise the
change. What is destroying Richard, my lord, is something more potent
than his enemies. Success. Remember this, Henry Lancaster, in days to
come: it is not the possession of power that offends the multitude but
the flaunting of it. You may have all earth for your footstool if you
refrain from--prodding it with your toe.
HENRY: So Richard has overreached himself.
CANTERBURY: Yes, the people look askance. He takes no one's life, but
everyone's peace of mind. He holds England in his two hands and laughs
like a wicked child, and men pause and hold their breath, not knowing
what he may do with his toy. They hope that someone may rescue it before
it is too late. Do you come back to England, my lord?
HENRY: I should like to be sure of my welcome.
CANTERBURY: I bring you the promise of two thousand men at the moment
you land, and ten thousand volunteers will be yours in a week.
HENRY: Promises are cheap.
CANTERBURY (_producing a document_): Promises, as you say, are--easy.
But what a man puts his hand to he is usually ready to fulfil.
HENRY (_glancing down the list of signatures_): But I have never written
to---- Some of these are Richard's friends.
CANTERBURY: He owes money to all of them, and they begin to lose hope.
They think that you may collect for them--with interest.
HENRY: For services rendered. I see.
CANTERBURY (_as_ HENRY _appears lost in thought_): Well, my lord?
HENRY: My father--did he send me any message?
CANTERBURY: The messengers from your father are half a day behind me.
HENRY: We didn't always see eye to eye, you know. It's a funny world,
isn't it! We belonged to the wrong fathers, Richard and I. In his heart,
you know, Lancaster always liked Richard better than he did me.
(_Ignoring_ CANTERBURY'S _protest_) They talked the same language.
CANTERBURY: You certainly should have been the Black Prince's son; a
soldier, a man to stir the nation's sleeping pride. But it is not yet
too late for you to save England's prestige. If you come back with me
now, my lord, there is a great future in front of you.
HENRY: If I come back with you now, it is to claim my estates.
CANTERBURY: Yes, yes. That is understood. And whatever greatness the
future may hold for you, you will owe to the fact that your cause was
just.
HENRY: To the fact that Richard was foolish, you mean. (_He pours out
two glasses of wine._)
CANTERBURY (_as_ HENRY _pushes a glass across to him_): Well, my lord?
HENRY (_giving him a toast_): To the folly of princes!
CURTAIN
SCENE VI
_A room in Conway Castle, six months later._ SIR JOHN MONTAGUE,
_alone_.
[_Enter_ MAUDELYN, _as if from a journey_.
MAUDELYN: Sir John! He's here, sir. Aren't you coming down? (MONTAGUE
_takes no notice. He appears to be sunk in a stupor._) Sir John!
MONTAGUE: Oh, God, I wish I were dead!
MAUDELYN: But it's the King, sir.
MONTAGUE: I know, I know.
MAUDELYN: But there's no one here to welcome him but you, sir. You must
come down! Please, sir! We've been travelling since dawn, and he is
tired and hungry.
[_Enter_ RICHARD, _alone_.
RICHARD (_amiably_): Well, my friend, are things so bad that you haven't
even a greeting for me?
[_Exit_ MAUDELYN.
MONTAGUE: Oh, God, I wish I were dead. I've failed, Richard.
RICHARD: So it would seem. I have come all the way north through Wales
without seeing a single man wearing the White Hart. All the more reason
that I should see at least one on the doorstep of Conway. Come, John,
pull yourself together and tell me. What has become of the Cheshire men
I sent you from Ireland to raise?
MONTAGUE: I did raise them--quite a likely-looking lot. And because
Henry was coming north fast, I took them into Wales, to march south
through the mountains to meet you and the Irish army. Bristol way,
somewhere. But Chester surrendered to Henry, and when my Cheshire lot
heard that they just melted away. Deserted in bands of twenty and thirty
at a time. I am left with only my own men.
RICHARD: Poor John! And so you have been holding your head for a week,
wondering how you were going to tell me. Cheer up, you've told me, and I
haven't exploded. Things aren't hopeless yet, you know. There is still
the Irish army. I left it with Edward at Bristol. I thought that I
should be happier with my own Cheshire men. We shall go south and join
them as soon as you have given me the meal which you haven't yet offered
me.
MONTAGUE: But--there isn't any Irish army.
RICHARD: What do you mean?
MONTAGUE: They've gone over to Henry.
RICHARD: The men I had in Ireland! But Rutland! Edward? He had twenty
thousand men when I left him.
MONTAGUE: He sent a messenger to say that there was nothing for it but
surrender. It would have been useless to fight, he said; the men had no
heart for it.
RICHARD: Yes; that has a familiar sound. It is a fatal thing to be my
friend, isn't it?
MONTAGUE (_with more generosity than conviction_): You can't blame
Edward altogether. York had been forced to give way, and he just
followed his father's example.
RICHARD: I don't blame him. Why should I? And so we have no army?
MONTAGUE: No. I have scoured all the Welsh fortresses--Flint, and Holt,
and Beaumaris--but there is no help there.
RICHARD: No help anywhere, it seems. There is one thing you haven't
done, John.
MONTAGUE: What!
RICHARD: You haven't said: "I told you so." It was a mistake to twist
Henry's tail any further.
MONTAGUE: Why did you, Richard?
RICHARD: Oh, I don't know. What does it matter now. This looks like the
end.
MONTAGUE: You take it very calmly.
RICHARD: I am so tired. My life has lost direction, John; and I have no
longer anything for compass. We had a vision once--Anne and I. We made
it come true, too; as near as visions may be true. And then Anne---- But
for me there was still a purpose; a debt to pay. The prospect of that
payment filled the years for me. And in the end I paid it. (_Under his
breath_) Gloucester, Arundel, Mowbray, Henry. It is intoxicating to
achieve one's purpose, John. There were times when I wanted to stop the
very passer-by and say: "I have done it! I have done what I set out to
do!" It was so heady a draught that I may have drunk too deep, perhaps.
(_Coming to the surface_) Sweet reason has not been my ruling
characteristic these last months, has it? Oh, well. The only question
that remains to us now is whether I go and surrender myself with all the
dignity of our combined forces, or whether I sit at Conway like a
snake-scared bird waiting to be taken. While we are discussing the
momentous question, perhaps you will give me something to eat and drink?
Wales may be picturesque, but it is a sorry----
[_There is a noise of arrival outside. Enter_ MAUDELYN.
MAUDELYN: It's the Archbishop of Canterbury, sir.
RICHARD: Alone?
MAUDELYN: With only two followers.
RICHARD: A deputation from Henry! Let him come in.
[_Exit_ MAUDELYN.
I seem fated not to eat to-day. Oh, smile, John, smile, for God's sake.
Is the approach of the Archbishop not sufficient gloom?
MONTAGUE: What do you think---- (_He has not sufficient courage to
finish "he has come to say."_)
RICHARD: I think that it _would_ be Arundel's brother who came on a
mission like this.
[_Enter_ MAUDELYN _with the_ ARCHBISHOP, _and two followers_.
RICHARD: Good day, my lord.
CANTERBURY: Good day, sir. I come on rather an unhappy mission, and
since I am an ambassador I trust that you will treat all that I have to
say as the utterance of another, made through my mouth. I come in fact,
from your cousin Henry.
RICHARD: I fail to see that you should apologise for that. Being
ambassador _for_ Henry is not worse than being ambassador _to_ him. You
were the person who went into France to invite him to England, weren't
you?
CANTERBURY: I was, sir, I was. But there again I went as the ambassador
of the English people, and not in any personal capacity.
RICHARD: My poor Archbishop! It must be a sad fate never to have the
chance of speaking for oneself. But speak for Henry, and we shall take
care to blame Henry for all the impertinences.
CANTERBURY: The Duke of Lancaster, sir----
RICHARD: Who! Oh, yes--Henry. Go on.
CANTERBURY: The Duke of Lancaster, sir, would have you know that he has
come into England, not wantonly, to stir up trouble, but at the request
of influential nobles and with the consent and approbation of the common
people and of all law-abiding citizens, to ensure that this country
shall be better governed than it has been for the last twenty years.
[MONTAGUE _moves impulsively, but_ RICHARD _restrains him_.
RICHARD: Go on, my lord.
CANTERBURY: The Duke of Lancaster has no desire for war, and if you,
sir, are willing to surrender your person to him he undertakes that no
harm shall befall you while in his care.
MONTAGUE: What guarantee have we of that?
CANTERBURY: The Duke of Lancaster suggests that the King should
accompany me and my two servants, along with his own household and
retainers, to Flint, and from there ride with the Duke and the other
nobles, honourably and openly to London.
MONTAGUE (_whose attention has been called by_ MAUDELYN _to something
beyond the window_): You say you came here alone from Flint with only
two followers?
CANTERBURY: With only the two who await me now.
MONTAGUE (_pointing out of the window_): And what are these, then, may I
ask? What are these?
CANTERBURY: These what? (_At_ MONTAGUE'S _tone_) Really, Montague!
MONTAGUE: These points of light among the trees?
CANTERBURY: I really don't know. The sun is shining on something bright,
I expect.
MONTAGUE: Yes, on something bright! Do you think we are fools? That is
the sun shining on helmets and spear-points. You and your two followers!
RICHARD: Come, come, Montague. Let us not be hasty. We can hardly accuse
the Archbishop, who is not only an ambassador but a holy man of God, of
deliberately concealing the truth. We must accept his word for it that
the points of light are merely--points of light, my lord?
MAUDELYN: Don't, sir, don't! You are walking into a trap.
RICHARD: Fie on you both! Have we not the ambassador's word that we ride
honourably and openly to London?
CANTERBURY (_uneasily_): I am merely delivering the message with which I
was entrusted, sir.
RICHARD: You have made that amply clear. Am I allowed to make
conditions?
CANTERBURY: I am to use my own discretion.
RICHARD: What! So much licence to a mere mouthpiece! Well, let us be
thankful for it. My only condition in giving myself up to my cousin is
that safe conduct will be granted to my friend, Sir John Montague, and
my secretary, John Maudelyn. That they shall be free to come and go as
they will. No rides to London, honourable or otherwise, for them.
[_The others protest that they are going with him in any case, but he
motions them to silence._
Well, my lord?
CANTERBURY: I think I may say that that will be granted.
RICHARD (_sharply_): Don't think! I want an answer to that. It is to be
your word for their safety.
CANTERBURY: Then I give you my word, sir.
RICHARD: There is one other matter. I want a promise that the Queen's
household at Windsor will remain unchanged for the moment. That the
attendants and friends that she knows may be allowed to remain with her,
and that she shall be in no way disturbed or frightened.
CANTERBURY: Sir, we should never dream----
RICHARD: Will you give me an answer? Is the Queen to be left unmolested?
Do you promise that?
CANTERBURY: Certainly, sir, with all my heart.
RICHARD: Then we shall ride with you to meet Henry. But first I hope you
will join us in a meal.
CANTERBURY: I'm afraid there will not be time for a meal.
RICHARD: Time!
CANTERBURY: It is advisable that we travel by daylight.
RICHARD: What are you afraid of? (_Bitterly_) My armies? (_As_
CANTERBURY _does not answer_) Be assured, my lord. I shall ride with you
to meet my cousin. But I have no mind to go fasting.
CANTERBURY: I very much regret---- Perhaps you can eat as you go. We
must set out at once.
RICHARD (_indignant_): _Must!_ (_Recovering_) I see. May the King invite
his grace of Canterbury to drink with him? Maudelyn, bring some wine.
(_Exit_ MAUDELYN.) Perhaps, after all, you are right, my lord, in so
firmly refusing our hospitality. Judging entirely by appearances I
suspect that Sir John's larder will not come up to Lambeth standards.
But his cellar is always good. That was a good wine you gave us last
year. A little light, perhaps, but very fragrant. Italian, was it?
CANTERBURY: I--I don't remember.
RICHARD: But you shouldn't have served it in those goblets, you know.
Delightful cups they were--a benediction to the eye--but so bad for the
wine! Your small talk is not as good as usual, my lord.
[_Enter_ MAUDELYN _with three cups of wine. He offers the tray to the
King._
RICHARD _is automatically about to take his cup when he pauses_.
RICHARD: Let the Archbishop choose his.
CANTERBURY (_stiffly_): I hope you don't think, sir, that----
RICHARD: You are still my guest, my lord, and as a good host it would
pain me to force upon you something which all your life you have so
signally avoided.
CANTERBURY: What is that, sir?
RICHARD: A risk. What shall we drink to? Let me give you--My cousin, your
master.
_Erratum_ For the word "Drink" immediately following "Richard:" in
the 5th line from the bottom of page 110, read "A risk."
[CANTERBURY, _after a moment's surprise, drinks_. MAUDELYN _puts down
his cup, untouched_.
CANTERBURY: It was not a fortunate toast, sir.
RICHARD: Why not?
CANTERBURY: Canterbury has no master who is not king. Shall we go?
RICHARD: Tell them to saddle the horses again, Maudelyn.
[_Exit_ MAUDELYN.
CANTERBURY (_as_ RICHARD _makes no movement_): Will you make ready, sir?
RICHARD: I have lost my wardrobe. You will not have to wait even for
that.
[_He turns to the door._
CURTAIN
SCENE VII
_A room in the Tower of London, a month later._ RICHARD, _alone,
with a tray of food, untouched, beside him_.
_Enter_ MAUDELYN.
MAUDELYN: You haven't touched your food, sir.
RICHARD (_amiably_): I'm not hungry, Maudelyn. And it is hardly the kind
of food to stimulate appetite, is it?
MAUDELYN: No, it isn't very pleasant, sir. I'm sorry. I did protest when
they gave it to me, but----
RICHARD: Don't protest, Maudelyn, for heaven's sake. I don't want you to
get into trouble. It would be dreadful if they took my last friend from
me. How does it feel to be butler, body-servant, nursemaid, and
bottle-washer, as well as secretary?
MAUDELYN: I like it, sir. If the circumstances were happier, there is no
fate I should like better.
RICHARD: You may even have to mend my clothes, presently. Look at these
shoes. To lose one's kingdom may be humbling, but to be down at heel is
utter humiliation. I had no idea that when you had only one set of
clothes they wore out so quickly. (_Rising_) Ah, I'm stiff yet. Riding
that awful little pony was as bad as riding a fence. It was like Henry
to think of that pony. Even his revenges lack vision. A tradesman,
Henry. Did you see him as we came through London? He ducked his head to
each blessing like a street singer catching coins in a hat. I got no
blessing. Did you hear what they called me? Traitor! It was a strange
word to choose, surely?
MAUDELYN: Does it matter, sir, what the mob shouts?
RICHARD: It shouldn't, but it hurts. They counted me a friend once. But
I lost their friendship when I gave my other hand to France. They never
quite forgave me that.
MAUDELYN: It made me sick at heart to look at them, and know that grown
men should make such a rabble.
RICHARD: They are children, Maudelyn, such children; the sport of every
knave with a glib tongue. They will go on being gulled; and beauty will
go on being at their mercy. (_His eye lighting again on his shoes_) I
might set a new fashion, of course; shoes with no toes. Would it be
effective, do you think?
MAUDELYN: If you please, sir----
RICHARD: Well, Maudelyn, what is it that requires so much effort to say?
Do you want--to leave me? Is that it?
MAUDELYN: Oh, no, sir! God forbid! It's just that--well, I noticed your
shoes, sir. And I thought, sir---- I have a spare pair that look a
little better than these. If you would care---- (_He pauses._)
RICHARD: If I should care! But don't be rash, Maudelyn. You don't know
where your next pair of shoes is coming from.
MAUDELYN: They are not very beautiful, of course. If you would rather
not---- I just thought----
RICHARD: Maudelyn, I love you. Go and get the shoes before Henry comes.
MAUDELYN: I have them outside, sir. (_Picking up the tray, and carrying
it to the door_) I brought them--well, just to be ready, in case----
RICHARD (_gently_): It was almost as difficult to tell me about the
shoes as it was to tell me the news of Radcot Bridge, wasn't it?
MAUDELYN: Well, they're not very beautiful shoes, sir.
RICHARD: At any rate, I didn't hit you this time.
[MAUDELYN _puts the tray outside and comes back with the shoes_.
MAUDELYN: You see, sir; they're very plain.
RICHARD: They are ravishing. You should get a principality for this, my
friend.
[MAUDELYN _takes off the worn shoes and puts on the new ones_.
Are you crying, Maudelyn?
MAUDELYN: No, sir, I have a cold.
RICHARD (_patting his shoulder_): Get rid of it. (_Surveying the shoes_)
Now you can tell them that I am ready to receive Henry, if it is
convenient for him.
MAUDELYN: The Duke of Lancaster is not staying in the Tower, sir. He has
gone to the Palace at Westminster.
RICHARD: So Henry has settled at Westminster? I'm afraid the decorations
will be wasted on him.
MAUDELYN: They are expecting the Duke at any moment, though, sir. At
least, that is what it looked like. There was a----
RICHARD: An atmosphere. I know.
[_The door is flung open without warning and_ HENRY _comes in,
followed by the_ ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY _and the_ DUKE OF YORK.
I know that I am your prisoner, Henry. But it might have been a little
more graceful to announce your arrival. You should learn from the
Archbishop how to do an evil thing gracefully. (_To_ CANTERBURY) Good
day, my lord. Are you ambassador to-day, or do you for once represent
the Archbishop of Canterbury? (_To_ YORK) Good day, my lord. I am glad
that your son is safe. Will you tell him so from me?
YORK: You must believe me, Richard, when I say that all this is
inexpressibly painful for me.
RICHARD (_soothing_): Yes, yes. It is a little painful for me too.
YORK: In unprecedentedly difficult times I have done as it seemed to me
best for all. I hope that you will not blame Edward, or me, for the
course we have felt impelled to take.
RICHARD: I have said already that I am glad your son is safe, and I mean
what I say. It occurs to me to be glad, too, that your son is safe,
Henry. Rumour has never been kind to me, but I shudder to think what it
would have said if Lancaster's heir had not come safely back from
Ireland.
HENRY: All this is beside the point.
RICHARD (_with an echo of_ HENRY'S _manner_): Yes, yes, let us not waste
time. To business, to business.
CANTERBURY: We have come, sir, bringing a formal deed of abdication
which, if you are still willing, we require you to sign.
RICHARD: And if I am not willing? What then? Don't be distressed, my
lord; I shall sign. The cares of government I shall turn over to my
cousin with thankfulness. As to the kingdom and the glory, I have had
enough of them. (_He nods to_ HENRY, _as if he had spoken_.) Too much,
perhaps, as you say. I may have been extravagant in my own household.
But when they are financing your next war, Henry, they may remember my
tournaments with regret. Well, let me see the deed.
[_The_ ARCHBISHOP _lays the paper before him, and_ RICHARD _scans it_.
(_Slowly_) "Insufficient and useless." "Unworthy to reign." It is not a
generous document, is it? "Tyranny." Have I been a tyrant? Curious. I
never thought of myself as a tyrant. At least no tyrant has shed less
blood. Nor been so tolerant of others' modes and minds. I have never
persecuted anyone for their own good. I leave that to you, Henry. What
the towns will save in feasts to the King they will spend on the burning
of heretics. Have you a pen, Maudelyn?
MAUDELYN (_in a strangled voice_): No, sir.
[RICHARD _looks up, surprised. His expression softens at sight of his
servant's face_.
CANTERBURY: I have one here, sir.
RICHARD: You have forgotten nothing, have you, my lord? (_He muses over
the paper again._) Henry, when I gave myself up to you in Wales, I made
conditions which you accepted but saw fit not to keep.
HENRY: I have explained already that your guard was as much for your own
safety against the people as from any motive of imprisonment.
RICHARD (_pityingly_): You were never very ingenious, Henry. (_In his
normal tones_) Before I sign this abdication I want to be reassured in
the presence of these witnesses that the conditions will be carried out.
That I shall be set free--strange as it may seem, life is still
desirable (_he smiles faintly at that, as at a memory_)--that the Queen
will not be further molested, and that I shall be granted an adequate
livelihood. You agree to these three things on condition that I sign
this paper?
HENRY: I agree.
RICHARD: And you, my lords?
YORK and CANTERBURY: We agree.
[RICHARD _signs the deed. The_ ARCHBISHOP _takes the document into his
keeping_.
HENRY: I think it will be for your own safety if----
RICHARD: What! More measures for my safety! What now?
HENRY: If you leave London for a time. I suggest that you go, with a
suitable escort, to the north. Let us say to Pomfret Castle.
RICHARD (_in sudden fear_): No!
CANTERBURY: I think you will find it more judicious to take the Duke of
Lancaster's advice, sir.
RICHARD: No, I tell you! I shall leave London, yes. Do you think I want
to experience again the hatred in the streets, the sneers, the lying
accusations flung at me like mud? Yes, I shall leave London, but I will
not leave it a prisoner. I know your suitable escorts, Henry. I
suffered one all the way from Wales. I shall leave London with my
friends, freely, as you promised.
HENRY: It does not suit us that you should join your friends in London.
CANTERBURY: You must see, sir, that trouble before the coronation is to
be avoided at all costs.
RICHARD: I have no wish to make trouble. The best way to prevent it is
to let me join my friends as soon as possible, otherwise they may plot
to secure me a crown which I have freely given up.
HENRY: They may plot, but without your physical presence they will have
no following. You would be well advised to go to the north for some
time.
RICHARD: I shall go north in any case, but not under your escort. Why
should I?
HENRY: Because you have no choice.
RICHARD (_after a long pause_): I see. And you, my dear uncle, you agree
to this?
YORK: I think you can trust Lancaster to do what is best, Richard. The
situation is awkward, very awkward.
RICHARD: Very. (_Looking_ HENRY _in the eyes_) But Lancaster will get
rid of the awkwardness in due course, I have no doubt.
HENRY (_uneasy under the scrutiny_): It will only be a matter of a few
weeks, until things have settled down.
RICHARD: Would Maudelyn's presence in Pomfret be dangerous for me?
HENRY: I think it better that none of your friends should be with you
just now.
MAUDELYN: But I must, I must! I go everywhere with the King.
HENRY: You can still go everywhere with the King. There is a place for
you in my household.
MAUDELYN: I'd rather die. (_To_ YORK) My lord, you know that I have been
all my life with the King. Speak for me, please. Don't separate me from
the King. Please! Speak for me!
RICHARD: Hush, Maudelyn. I don't want you to come. You can look after
the Queen for me, now that they have taken her other friends from her.
(_To_ HENRY) Or would that perhaps be dangerous for someone?
HENRY: No, I see nothing against that.
MAUDELYN: But I want to be with you, sir. I must come with you.
RICHARD: Maudelyn, you are the only person left to whom I can say: "I
want this," and know that I shall have what I want. I want you to stay
with the Queen at Windsor until--until I come back. I know that you
would prefer to come with me, but I ask you to do this for me instead.
MAUDELYN: I can't, sir, I can't! If I let you go I may never see you
again.
RICHARD: Even if you didn't you would know that you had done me a great
service. That is something. You could do me no service at Pomfret.
MAUDELYN: I could be with you, sir.
RICHARD: I would rather that you were with the Queen.
CANTERBURY: I think, since our business is finished, and time
presses----
HENRY: Yes, we must take our leave. I shall ask Sir Thomas Swynford to
escort you north to-morrow. If you like, I shall take Maudelyn with me
now, and see that he is sent safely to Windsor to-night.
RICHARD: With a suitable escort?
HENRY: Safely.
RICHARD: Very well. You had better go, Maudelyn. (_Seeing_ MAUDELYN'S
_mutinous and despairing face_) Give us a moment, my lords. (_To_
CANTERBURY _and_ YORK) Good-bye, my lords.
YORK: We shall have you back very soon, Richard, very soon.
RICHARD: Do I see you again, Henry? No? That is a pity. I should have
liked to see how a crown became you. Take care that your son does not
steal it from you!
[_All go out but_ RICHARD _and_ MAUDELYN.
MAUDELYN: How can you ask it of me, sir?
RICHARD: Is this mutiny?
MAUDELYN: You know that I can do nothing for the Queen! You think that I
shall be safe at Windsor. That is why you want me to stay. And you will
be all alone up there--all alone! I can't bear it, sir.
RICHARD: But you are wrong, quite wrong. I want you to be a companion to
the Queen. She must be very lost among all the strange faces. Think of
it, Maudelyn. Poor little foreigner! But to-morrow morning you go to see
her, tell her that I am coming soon, and make her happy. You can do that
for me, can't you?
MAUDELYN (_with difficulty_): Yes, sir.
RICHARD: Good-bye, Maudelyn. I shall remember the shoes; and the night
you came to light the candles. You have been a good friend to me.
(_Someone calls outside._) They are very impatient, with all time in
front of them.
MAUDELYN (_trying to talk of ordinary things_): Yes, they have to meet a
committee of the Commons. One of the guard told me.
RICHARD (_also making conversation_): Oh? Are the Commons going to vote
Henry a fortune in consideration of his services to the country?
MAUDELYN: No, sir. The gifts he made to his followers were out of all
reason, they say. They are complaining of his extravagance.
[_A radiant smile breaks on_ RICHARD'S _tired face_.
RICHARD: Extravagance! Isn't life amusing? (_There is an impatient
knocking._) Good-bye, Maudelyn. (MAUDELYN _kisses his hand fervently and
almost runs out_. RICHARD _stares after him, stares at the empty room,
and then slowly the amusement comes back to his face_.) Extravagance!
(_He savours it._) How Robert would have laughed!
CURTAIN
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
The following changes were made to the original text:
Page 27: changed 'Richard!' to 'Richard:'
Page 96: changed 'What have I done.' to 'What have I done?'
At the bottom of page 110, we have corrected
"Drink. What shall we drink to?" to "A risk. What shall we drink to?"
in accordance with this erratum slip bound into the printed edition:
For the word "Drink" immediately following "Richard:" in
the 5th line from the bottom of page 110, read "A risk."
[End of _Richard of Bordeaux_ by Gordon Daviot]